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;iiarleG S cntii er. _ 'New Tork . 




THE EVENING BOOK 



OR, 



FIRESIDE TALK 



ON 



MORALS AND MANNERS, WITH SKETCHES OF 
WESTERN LIFE. 



/^7 



MRS. KIRKLAND, 

AUTHOE OF "a new" home," "HOLIDAYS ABROAD," ETC. 



NEW YORK: 
CHARLES SCRIBNER, 145 NASSAU' STRE.ET. 



Jl^J. ^^^^-^^-'^ ^..^/^^ ;. /^fZ^ 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by 

CHAKLES SCEIBNEE, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District 

of New York. 



C. W. BENEDICT, 

Stekeotypeb, 
201 "William Street 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Desxgned by Dallas— Engraved by Btjet. 

PAGE 

HOSPITALITY, Frontispiece 

CONVEESATION, Vignette 

THE HOUSEHOLD, 13 

THE TOILET, ...... IIT 

THE LOG SCHOOL HOUSE, 170 

COUETmO BY PEOXY, . . 235 

THE COUNTEY FUNEEAL, . . 261 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE HOUSEHOLD, .13 

A CHAPTEE ON HOSPITALITY, . . . . . . .26 

THE MTSTEEY OF VISITINa, 36 

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DEESS, 48 

CONYEESATION, . . 75 

WHAT SHALL WE- BE ? 101 

FASTIDIOUSNESS, . . . UT 

BUSH-LIFE, 131 

STEEETS AND SEEVANT8 AT HOME AND ABEOAD, ... 145 

THE LOG SCHOOLHOUSE, ITO 

STANDAEDS, 189 



\nu 



CONTENTS. 



SKETCH OF A CASE ; OE A PHYSICIAIT EXTEAOEDINARY, 

THE DAEK SIDE, .... 

COUETING BY PEOXY. (A Tale of New York), 

GEOWING OLD GEACEFULLY, . 

THE TOWN POOE. (A Western Eeminiscence,) 

THE VILLAGE SCHOOL, 

THE SINGING SCHOOL, . . 

A WEDDING IN THE WOODS, . 



PAGE 
190 



235 
246 
201 
278 



PREFACE. 



We are asked sometimes hj those we would amuse — 
'Is it true?' 

If there were room here for a discussion as to what is 
'truth' in such cases, I might, to such a question 
touching this our evening volume, answer Yes ! to my 
own satisfaction at least ; for I have a private conviction 
that a certain kind of truth lies at the bottom of all the 
pieces that compose it. They have been written in various 
moods ; some gay, some grave ; some hopeful, some a little 
desponding, as the characters or events of the hour tinged 
the thoughts with rose-color, sober grey, dreaded blue, 
and — perhaps the reader will think — an occasional shade 
of green. But every writer has before him an imaginary 
audience, and mine is usually composed of young people, 
so I will hope the sombre tints will not be found to 
prevail. One hates to be set down as a mere moralizer — 
a tiresome companion anywhere. A generally serious 
aim I am content to avow, and I confess also an ambition 
to make a peculiarly American book ; not that I think 



PREFACE. 



American views of maimers and morals should be partial 
or narrow, but because the foreign literature which fur- 
nishes most of the reading of our young people seems to 
me likely to inspire them with un-American ideas of 
society and even of duty, and it becomes, therefore, 
especially desirable to refer sometimes to the ancient and 
universal standards — those whose excellence is beyond 
dispute, though portions of the world have departed far 
from their influence, led away by the incorrect notions of 
life which prevail in old and corrupt communities. 

If I could have the least influence in recommending 
simplicity, truthfulness, and humanity of manners, I 
should feel proud indeed. By ' humanity' in manners, 
I would be understood to mean manners founded on the 
great law of love, and not on mere convention — springing 
from a principle, and not poorly imitative of those whom 
we are humble enough to look upon as above us. Fine 
manners are those which show full and due consideration 
for every one's merits and feelings — quite another afikir 
from fashionable manners, which are respective only of 
worldly advantages. That these are but poor reasons 
for a show of kindness, we must all have felt. As we 
frequently discern beneath the assumptions of refinement, 
evidences of revolting coarseness, so we often find imder 
the roughest exterior, tokens of a delicacy which needs 
but favoring circumstances to make it charming; and 
if we are shocked at the exhibition of mean qualities in 
the uncultivated, it is well to learn to feel that they are 
even more disgusting in those who have had greater 



PREFACE. xi 



advantages. "We may be amused at the crude notions 
entertained hj the rough backwoodsman on the subject 
of education, but we ought to contemplate with serious 
regret the condition of those who, content with the merest 
froth of learning and accomplishments, fancy themselves 
much higher in the intellectual scale than their brethren 
of tlie forest. 

It is evident that to meet worthily all varieties of 
human character and claims, as consistent American 
citizens are bound to do, we need some standard that 
knows no fluctuation, no caprice ; that owes no moulding 
to the pride or whims of people living under different 
circumstances, and acknowledges subjection only to 
principles that govern the universal human heart. If I 
have succeeded at all in expressing my con^'ictions on 
this subject, a reference to it will be found more or less 
prominent in all the sketches and essays that follow. 



THE EVENING BOOK. 



THE HOUSEHOLD. 



What an old-fasliioned word ! Yes — and it means an old- 
fashioned thing too. A " post-coach" of twenty years ago in 
comparison with a rail-car of the present day, is as the " household " 
of om* great-grandfathers to the " menage " of oui' time. The keep 
of a feudal castle would look rather out of place among the con- 
seiTatories, artificial waterworks, and Chinese bridges of a modern 
garden ; perhaps the household, or citadel of home, has as httle 
claim to a position of honor among the " refinements " of fashion- 
able society. What need of walls or intrenchments when we hve 
for the pubhc ? Privacy is but another word for ennui ; retirement 
has but one meaning or value — that of affording opportunity ot 
preparation for display. If we would shut out the world, it is only 
when nature imperiously demands a moment's respite from its glare. 
Happy they whose nei'ves, hke ii'on, gi'ow the tougher by hammer- 
ing ! They need lose no time. 

Yet there was something pleasant in the antiquated idea of the 
home citadel. The old-fashioned parlor — what a nice place it was ! 
It had no twin, and could have none, for its best ornaments were 



14 THE EVENING BOOK. 



such as no skill of upholstery could match. Where could we get 
another grandmamma for the warm corner ? . Dear old lady, with 
her well-starched laces, her spotless white satin cap-riband, her 
shining black silk gown and shawl, her knitting, and her foot-stove — 
who can replace her ? And in the corner next the window, where 
the light can fall on her left hand, so that the flitting shadow of the 
ever busy right may not confuse the stitches, there is mamma, with 
her capacious work-basket before her ; a whole array of, not spools, 
but cotton-balls or thread-papers ; pin-cushions, emery- bags, thimbles, 
needle-books, on the table at her side ; not to mention the piece of 
wax gashed and criss-crossed in every dh*ection by whisthng threads, 
the very emblem of seamstress-thrift in the good days of old. A 
clear hght comes in at the window, for rooms where sewing is to be 
done must not be dimmed, let the carpets fade as they will ; no 
becoming twilight, therefore, can be among the attractions of our 
household parlor. When papa sits down to his 2)aper, he must have 
sunshine, or the next best thing that is to be had ; his eyes will not 
serve him for hght made gray or milky by strugghng through thick 
Hnen, and he has never been used to sitting in the basement to " save 
the parlors." What a cheerful rendezvous this makes for the children 
when they come from school ; no seeking mamma in bed-rooms, 
nurseries, or odd, out-of-the-way nooks and corners, to which it would 
require a terrier's instinct to trace her with any precision. A radi- 
ating centre of light and love is easily found, and young heaiis thrill 
with, a pleasure all the sweeter for being undefined, as they approach 
it. ASection melts and flows around in this genial atmosphere, till 
it fills the whole mould, giving out smiles and kisses as it goes. 

Such a parlor as we are describing — large, square, light, cheerful 
and intensely human in its aspect; admits no furnitm'e too rich or 
too fragile for daily use. Any brown-hollanding of chairs and sofas, 



THE HOUSEHOLD. 15 

# 

or gauziiig of lamps and candelabra would be out of character. A 
di'ugget is admissible, for a great deal of eating is done in this room, 
and httle feet might tread bread-and-butter and potato into the car- 
pet unhandsomely. A sideboard is essential, for it gives a hint of 
hospitahty ; and a plate-warmer may stand near it without a blush. 
A nest of salvers graces a recess — old social friends now banished to 
the china-closet. The mantelpiece shows lamps and candlesticks ; a 
three-minute glass for boiling eggs by ; a small marble bust of 
Washington for a centre-piece, and china flower-pots at the ends ; 
besides a pair of card-racks, in which are displayed a dozen or so of 
cards somewhat yellowed by time and good fires. A picture hangs 
above ; perhaps a colored engraving from Morland, in which cows, 
pigs, and chickens remind the young folk of that dehghtful summer 
when they were in the country, romping in haymows, and chasing 
Uncle John's old hoi-se round the field, hoping to inveigle his senile 
sagacity to the bridle cunningly hidden behind Charhe's back. 
Crimson curtains there are, but not too close, and a few gei-aniums 
and monthly roses stand just where they can catch the morning 
sun, which shines through then* leaves, producing another summer 
illusion. The tables have newspapers, pamphlets, and books on 
them ; for conversation is a chief amusement of the true household 
parlor, and all the topics of the day are in place, from the congres- 
sional debates to the new novel, or the theatrical prodigy. The 
pianoforte is conspicuous at one side of the room, and plenty of 
music lies about it ; and a flute is there — for fluting is almost a 
domestic duty. 

But we need not further particularize, for the main point in a 
household parlor is the air of hfe, freedom, affection, and intelli- 
gence ; the unmistakeable signs of a common interest ; the nestling 
and home-like look of mother's corner, and the severer dignity of 



16 THE EVENING BOOK. 



grand-mamma's ; the all-day tone, as if a pleasant call was always 
acceptable, and was accounted among the proper belongings of the 
social area. There may be shreds on the carpet and a litter of play- 
thing's under the table, but no cold look will remind the visitor that 
the proper horn* has not been hit. Mamma may be washing up the 
breakfast things, but she will not run away, or even hide her towel, 
if one of papa's good friends stops in on his way down town. She 
will, more probably, defer a httle her daily \isit to the kitchen, 
rather than lose the talk of the grave men about pohtics or 
business. 

Wherein consists the difference between such a parlor as we have 
sketched, and the morning room of fashionable houses ? Our little 
picture doubtless seems a mere vagary of the imagination, like 
impossible Swiss scenery ; our young readers can hardly behevo 
such things ever were, and they are far from desiring that they 
should come back again ; so different is the whole coui*se and cur- 
rent of then* ideas of domestic hfe. In what consists the difference ? 
Is it in particulars only, or in the spirit of the household ? 

There is hardly a town in all this glonous and blessed Union of 
ours, where we do not, or may not hear lamentations over the old 
times of sociabihty, and free, neighborly intercoui-se. In some 
places it is ' Before our society became so large,' in others, ' Before 
we had a few rich people among us, who set expensive fashions, and 
encouraged ceremony and show.' In the cities it may perhaps be, 
* It is in vain to attempt social visiting here. Tlie gentlemen are 
so late at their business, and come home so tired, that they want 
nothing but rest;' or 'The ladies have become so fashionable that 
nothing but a morning call is permissible without special invitation.' 
So we are to suppose there is but little beside formal or showy visit- 
ing. And does this bespeak greater privacy and comfort at home ? 



THE HOUSEHOLD. 17 



All experience says no ! Social feeling is an element of home ; 
pride is the enemy of both. A home pervaded by the true spuit is 
gladdened by the voice of a friend. A home in ^hich the educa- 
tion of children is a sacred object, covets the conversation of inteUi- 
gent and various guests. A home of whose harmony religion is the 
diapason, breathes a spmt of hospitahty. ' In none of these will the 
alternation be between seclusion and display — two extremes equally 
inimical to joyous domesticity. Common hfe wiU be allowed to 
flow through them, for the sake of its healthy current, its fertilizing 
clouds and dews, and the rainbow gleams that flit across its surface, 
wherein the eternal stars are mhrored. Life ! how mad to shut it 
out for pride's sake ! 

But we must yield to circumstances ! Ah indeed ! were circum- 
stances made for man, or man for cu'cumstances ? What compelhng 
power binds us in the traces of fashion ? Whose folly is it that 
makes us ashamed of domestic employments, in such sort that we 
sedulously banish every symptom of them from the seen part of 
our life ? Who is it that measm-es out the forms with which a 
neighbor must be received, or the degree of dress necessary to make 
an unexpected visit agreeable ? It is in vain to talk of ' Society,' 
as if society were a huge, hresistible Morgante, using us as tools or 
servants, or a tremendous cyhnder flatting us out, in spite of our- 
selves, hke mere dough. We, and such as we, make society, and it 
is om' individual cowardice, or mean ambition, that keeps it from 
improving. Every virtuous family has the seeds of rational and 
happy society within itself. There is the community of interest, and 
the consciousness of this community, which is the first requisite for 
justice and harmony. There is the instinctive and habitual affec- 
tion, which is the only omnipotent antidote against those paroxysms 
of selfishness or ill humor to which we are aU hable, and must be 



18 THE EVENING BOOK. 



so while we are in a condition in which mind and body contend for 
mastery with alternate success. There are the various tastes of age 
and youth, sex, gpnius, and idios3nicrasy, which are necessary to an 
exciting and profitable variety of interest. There is the felt neces- 
sity for a common and inflexible standard of duty, to which all may 
refer without fear of contradiction. There are the antagonist cir- 
cumstances of joy and sorrow, misfortune and success, transgression 
aud repentance, authority, restraint, and strugghng will, demanding 
that sympathy without which we should all become intolerable and 
hard-hearted egotists, in the coui*se of our threescore and ten years' 
intercom-se with the world at large. In short, home is indeed a 
little world ; and in each household we see in some sense a resem- 
blance to the society of which it forms a part. If love and truth, 
justice and religion, reigned mthin our homes, so would they in 
social life ; if pride, desire of display, and of appearing what we are 
not ; if a longing for excitement, a secret indulgence of \icious 
inclinations, and the selfish forgetfulness of the oneness of family 
interests characterize our household fife, so will they form the staple 
of that ' Society' which we are fond of making a scape-goat of. 
The decay of the household fire is the cause of our social coldness ; 
if we would have our outer intercouree rational, unaffected, sympa- 
thetic, improving, and beneficent, we must reform onr domestic 
maxims. 

One theme of conservative satire against our ne'^fangled repubhc, 
— satire hissed abroad, and cautiously echoed at home, — is the want 
of reverence and subordination observable in our young people, as 
if it were, as indeed we have heard it gi-avely asserted to be, a 
natural consequence of our institutions. But sm-ely this is a misun- 
deretanding of the very nature of liberty, which is to be esteemed 
only as the handmaid of obedience. 



THE HOUSEHOLD. 19 



For who loves that, must first be wise and good. 

and there is no goodness where there is no reverence. 1 Our own 
thought, as to this confessed want in the rising generation is, that in 
the wild chase after wealth and social distinction, the old-fashioned, 
fundamental, patriarchal, God-given idea of the household is merged 
into a sort of domestic republic, in which, all are free and equal, and 
the very notion of natural headship is repudiated, the prominent 
object being not the family but tbe world ; not the ark of shelter, 
but the struggling waves around it, and the floating, shppery trea- 
sures upon them. / For these we venture all ; for these we are 
content to dive, to dwell on rafts, or chng to pieces of wi-eck ; to 
dare the unknown monsters of the deep ; to go down with both 
hands clutched fall of the spoils with which we thought to return 
home at evening. Our thoughts may revert to the light which we 
know is shining there, but the glare about us makes it seem tame, 
if not contemptible. But are the young people alone to blame for 
these false and foolish notions ? Alas, no ! Have we not taught 
them that the time spent under the paternal roof is only a time of 
training for the great arena ? Has the happiness of home been an 
important end with us, or have we let it slip into the class of acci- 
dents, not worth considering in comparison with life's great object ? 
The weaiiness of this grinding, unsatisfactory hfe of ours makes our 
children necessary as playthings, so long as they can amuse us ; and 
the moment they pass this age their preparation for grinding on 
their own account commences, and we hasten to throw them on their 
individual responsibility. Authority, that soul and sun of the 
household, is unknown. We try a httle government or control of 
actions ; but we make but slender effort towards producing the 
state of mind which makes it natural to obey. Our children are 
therefore satisfied if they fulfill a certain specified round of duty or 



20 THE EVENING BOOK. 



observance towards us. Filial piety is really and truly an obsolete 
expression in the nineteenth century ; it smacks of feudahty, even. 
It is the tendency of an analytic and utilitarian age to strip com- 
mon life of its poetiy, and the household sufftrs with the rest. We 
live for the future — whether in a wise sense or not is the question. 
To live truly for the future we must hve in the present. " The hfe 
that now is" is the key of the fiitm-e. Certainly at some period of 
our existence we must undergo a moral and spiritual probation with 
express reference to om* ultimate moral and spiritual state. Nature 
seems to have appointed the domestic circle, in all its closeness of 
relation, openness of vision, and emotional incident, as the infant 
school for eternity. Later we are transferred to a more advanced or 
enlarged seminary on the same plan, where, in due time, we take 
the place of teachei-s, though we are still learners, too, repeating on 
a larger scale the lessons of the household. What a beneficent 
arrangement, if we would but enter into it heartily ! What train- 
ing in love, in patience, in fellow-feehng, in pity, in self-control, and 
self-denial ! What strength in union, what comfort in mutual reli- 
ance, and the unwavering confidence of sympathy ! 

The unsophisticated imagination delights in the notion of the 
household, its seclusion which is not sohtude — its exclusion which 
is not inhospitality — its unity which imphes variety. Children know 
this, as, when two of them will sit down under a great basket, and 
look round with a feehng of dehcious snugness, sajang, " This is our 
house ;" or with even less to aid the fancy, set a circle of chairs to 
personate a home, supplying the enclosing walls out of " the stuff 
that dreams are made of," and pretending to go through the daily 
routine of significant nothings which to their minds constitute home. 
The little girl takes small pleasure with her dolls till she can estab- 
lish them in something that seems like a domestic state, and have 



THE HOUSEHOLD. 21 



dressing and undressing, going to bed and getting up, sitting on 
sofas, entertaining company, and handing tea. We have seen 
children in the country that would make a drawing-room out of an 
old decayed stump, hanging the little hollows with mosses for cur- 
tains ; placing bits of broken china for ornaments and table furniture ; 
and pretty little piles of red leaves or flowers for fires, with thimbles 
ingeniously hung on threads, suspended over the mock blaze with 
mock dinnei-s in them. The talk that accompanied all this was 
household talk : — 

Human nature's daily food — • 

Transient sorrows, simple wiles, 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles ; 

a very reflex of the home scenes. It is for this that a family of dolls 
should always be allowed an important place in the nursery ; not 
wax dolls that must be laid away, and only taken out to have then' 
eyes pulled open and shut by means of a string, hke nothing on earth 
or under the earth ; but good, serviceable babies, that can be dressed 
and undressed, have their faces washed occasionally, and even be 
whipped, when the httle mamma is in the mood for domestic dis~ 
ciphne. The fashion of sending children to school at a very early 
age shortens the doll period too much for our ideas ; we w^ould pro- 
long it almost indefinitely, for the sake of the home element. Girls 
cannot have the details of domestic life too firmly fixed in their 
minds. We cannot help feeling a pity, not wholly untinged with 
contempt, when we hear young ladies publishing their total igno- 
rance of household minutise. They seem to us shorn of one of the 
modest glories of womanhood. If we were entrusted with the 
making up of a bride's trousseau, ^q should be sure to put in a 
couple of real (not make-believe) aprons, for making cake and cus- 
tards in, even if there were a point-lace veil. To us there is no incon- 



22 THE EVENING BOOK. 



gruity in these things. There is no domestic office, however trivial 
or toilsome, that is not capable of being exalted to some degree of 
dignity by the sentiment or spirit in which it is performed, as there 
is none which may not be degraded by sordid thoughts. Thns, 
' ordering a supper,' says Lady M. W. Montague, and we would 
add, under certain imaginable circumstances, cooking one, ' is not 
merely ordering a supper, but preparing for the refreshment and 
pleas oi-e of those we love;' while the rites of hospitality in their 
most gTaceful and imposing form are every day profaned by the 
mean, ostentatious, or trafficking spirit which prompts them. 

We touched on authority as the basis of household happiness — 
a proof how antiquated are our notions. But if the very mention 
of authority, even in connection with the ti-aining of children, give 
an air of mustiness to our page, how shall we face the reader of 
to-day, when we avow that we judge no family to be truly and 
rationally happy, unless the head of it possess absolute authority, in 
such sense that his known wish is law — his expressed will impera- 
tive. Is this an anti-democratic sentiment ? By no means. The 
ideal family supposes a head who is himself under law, and that of 
the most stringent and inevitable kind. It supposes him to hold 
and exercise authority under a deep sense of duty, as being some- 
thing with which God clothed him when he made him husband and 
father, and which he is, therefore, on no occasion or account, at 
liberty to put off or set aside as a thing indifferent. This power is 
necessary to the full development and exercise of that beautiful 
virtue of obedience, without which the human will must struggle on 
hopelessly for ever, being forbidden by its very constitution to know 
happiness on any other terms. It is an ill sign of the times, that 
the old-fashioned promise of obedience in the marriage ceremony is 
now only a theme for small wit. Those wise fathei-s who placed it 



THE ' HOUSEHOLD. 23 



there knew the human heart better than we suppose. They knew 
that, as sm-ely as man and wife are one, so surely do they thus 
united become a Cerberus-hke monster, if they retain more than one 
head. The old song says, 

' One of us two must obey — 
Is it man or woman 1 say !' 

A house in which this question remains undecided, is always a 
pitiable spectacle, for both nature and rehgion are set aside there. 

We had not dared to touch on this incendiary topic if we had 
not been sure of such support as admits not of gainsaying. Shak- 
speare's shrewdness, his knowledge of the human heart, his high 
ideal of woman as wife and mother, not to speak of his poetic appre- 
ciation of the beauty of fitness, render his opinion pecuharly valu- 
able on this ticklish point. Hear him : — 

' Thy husband is thy life, thy lord, thy keeper, 
Thy HEAD, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee, 
And for thy maintenance : commits his body 
To painful labor both by sea and land, 
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, 
While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe : 
And craves no other tribute at thy hands 
Than love, fair looks, and true obedience — 
Too little payment for so great a debt !' 

K now we should in turn read a homily to this supreme head 
(which is bound to have eai^), we might perhaps forfeit all the 
gratitude we suppose ourselves to have earned from him. We 
should show him such a hst of the duties which true headship 
imposes, that he would be glad to be dimmished, and perhaps 
change places with the least important of his subjects. The posses- 
sion of unquestionable authority almost makes him responsible for 



24 THE EVENING BOOK. 



the happiness of the household. No sunshine is so cheering as the 
countenance of a father who is feared as well as loved. A brow 
clouded with care, a mind too much absorbed by schemes of gain or 
ambition to be able to unbend itself in the domestic circle, a temper 
which vacillates between impatience under annoyance, and the deci- 
sion which puts an end to it, a disposition to indulgence which has 
no better foundation than mere indolence, and which is, therefore, 
sure to be unequal — these are all forbidden to him whose right it is 
to rule. In short, unless he rule himself, he is obviously unfit to 
rule anybody else ; so that, to assume this high position under law 
and gospel, is to enter into bonds to be good ! which appeai-s to us a 
fail* offset against the duty of obedience on the other side. 

One reason, certainly, why there is less household feeling than 
formerly, is that young married people, at present, think it necessary 
to begin hfe where their fathei-s left off — with a complete estabhsh- 
ment, and not a loop-hole left for those httle plans of future addition 
to domestic comforts or luxuries which give such a pleasant stimulus 
to economy, and confer so tender a value on the things purchased 
by means of an especial self-denial in another quarter. Charles 
Lamb, who was an adept in these gentle philosophies, said that after 
he had the abihty to buy a choice book when he chose, the indul- 
gence had, somehow, lost its sweetness, and brought nothing of the 
relish that used to attend a purchase after he and Mary had been 
looking and longing, and at last only dared buy upon the strength 
of days' or weeks' economizing. This is a secret worth learning by 
those who would get the full flavor of life, and make home the centre 
of a thousand delightful interests and memories. 

But all this is supposing that to please ourselves, and not the 
world, is the object. The world begs leave to order matters more 
rationally for us. Scorning nature's plan of pushing the fledgling 



/ 



THE HOUSEHOLD. 25 



from the parental nest before liis wings are full gro^vn, in order that 
he may strengthen and enjoy them the better through the necessity 
of efFoi't. It demands at least the appearance of independent matu- 
rity, and scouts any idea of growth in the gi-eat matter of feathei-s. 
And, what is worse, this regulation plumage often leaves the wearere 
chilled and uncomfortable, though perhaps unconscious why. We 
might learn better notions as to our dehut from the sportsman, for he 
knows that the pleasure is in the chase, not the dinner. 

In thus attempting faintly to shadow forth the difference between 
house and home, we have unavoidably broached some unpopular 
subjects, and must expect to be reckoned behind the age. But we 
pray our readers to remember that, in preferring the household 
warmth and sacredness of simple times to the less carefully impro- 
priated splendors of this, we are but following — so far as the ques- 
tion is an aesthetic one, at least — the example of the artist, who 
chooses for his canvas rather the sun-stained Italian damsel, with 
her trim, yet fantastic bodice, square head-dress of coarse liuen, and 
quaint distaff and spindle, than the most faultlessly furbelowed 
modern belle, though her complexion be like blanc-mange, and her 
form hke an hour-glass. These are matters of taste, and, perhaps, 
if we cannot quite agree, we may agi*ee to differ. 



A CHAPTER ON HOSPITALITY. 

Few of the good and pleasant things of this world will bear 
analyzing. We must take them as they are, or we lose them 
altogether. Even om- own most fondly-cherished benevolences — the 
things whereby in our secret souls, we hope to cover at least a. part 
of the multitude of sins — change color whjen we apply the severe 
tests with which we are wont to try the good deeds of our neigh- 
bors. It is not well to sift everything for the sake of detecting 
earthiness ; yet the woi'ld is so full of adulterations that something 
is necessary in self-defence. We may inquire a httle into some fair- 
seeming shows, at least to draw lessons for our own practice. 

No quahty or habit is more popular, or more natm-ally popular, 
than hospitality. It appeals so directly to the universal part of us — 
the jDoor wants of poor human nature, in the first place, and that 
other want no less urgent, that what contributes to the refreshment 
of the body should be seasoned with love or kmdness, or some show 
of them. We love even the pretence so dearly that we praise an 
inn — that abode of the mercenary demons — in proportion as there 
is the outward semblance of this, though we know it will all be 
• put down in the bill.' This may be one reason why some pei-sons 
who have sacrificed life's best blessing — spontaneous, disinterested 



A CHAPTER ON HOSPITALITY. 27 



affection — ^to the indulgenca of certain anti-social uncongenialities, 
find their only pleasure in advancing age, in places where the 
appeai-ance, at least, of ' honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,' 
may be purchased with money — the only means left these unfortu- 
nates. 

Being popular, hospitahty is, of course, a virtue which most peo- 
ple wish to practise in some shape, and which many people try to 
practise at the smallest possible expense. We do not mean expense 
of money — though this is sometimes spared rather unnecessarily — 
but of some other things not so cheap as money. Sad blunders are 
made — blunders of various kinds ; some which cover us with shame 
upon reflection ; some which cover us with ridicule while we are 
happily unconscious ; some which make enemies where we hoped to 
have secured fiiends ; some thi-ough means of which our pride 
appears, while we flatter ourselves that we are conferring a highly 
appreciated honor upon our guests. In primitive conditions of life, 
where the daily wants become especially prominent, from the degree 
of uncertainty which exists as to whether they will be satisfied and 
how, — hospitahty is often impulsive and sincere. Sympathy is neces- 
sarily strong in such cases. It is in highly civihzed and artificial 
life that hospitahty becomes an art, to be studied like other fine arts, 
or neglected and contemned through pride and inveterate self- 
indulgence. Poole — Paul Pry Poole — has an amusing sketch, ' A 
Christmas Visit to Dribble Hall,' an extract from which, in the 
'Living Age,' gave rise to this homily, by calhng up to remem- 
brance certain amusing passages in our own experience, which set 
us upon theorizing a httle in the matter. ' Squire Dribble' is a 
person who chooses to invite people to his house, and when they are 
there and fairly in his power, takes particular care to avoid perceiv- 
ing their wants, and especially cannot be made to understand that 



28 THE EVENING BOOK. 



iLeir habits may not be precisely similar to his own. Two gentle- 
men arrive at his comitry-honse too late for dinner ; he regTets that 
they did not come sooner, but promises to hm-ry supper by half an 
hour. On their hinting pretty broadly that so considerable a delay 
will be inconvenient after a long di'ive, he offers a shce of ' some- 
thing cold' with tea. In the morning he insists upon their rising at 
his hour, and allows them to dress in the bitter cold without fire, 
and so come down blue and shivering to the breakfast-table, where 
the eggs are counted out and the newspaper clutched by the squire, 
who declares he would not give a farthing for the paper unless he 
sees the first of it. 

This is no fancy sketch — we are convinced of it. We have seen 
American Dribbles who occasionally tried to be hospitable just in 
the squire's manner. In houses where all below stairs was costly 
and luxurious, we have seen the guest-chamber unfurnished even 
vv^ith the ]-equisite amount of chairs and tables ; no attendance of a 
servant offered, and no notice given of the time for rising, until the 
bell rang for the early breakfast which was then on the table. We 
have seen a lady who had visits and shopping on her hands, suffei'ed 
to sit still, when her time was very hmited, because the walking was 
too bad for her to venture out on foot, and delicacy prevented her 
sending for a carriage w^hile there was one quite at hberty, 
though not offered. In this matter of carriages particularly, a 
* Dribble' hospitality is but too common ; for again and again ha\'e 
we seen young ladies who were visiting wiiere a coach w\as kept, 
obhged to walk home after evening parties — attended by a servant 
or by some woful beau — a mile or two in the cold, because, although 
no carriage was sent, it was well understood that the fomily pride 
forbade any inmate from using a hired one. 

To be ' treated like one of the family' is sometimes \'ery agree- 



A CHAPTER ON HOSPITALITY. 29 



able, but this may be carried too far. We once knew a lady so 
candid as to protest against this mark of affection. She declared 
that when she visited, it made part of her pleasure to be treated 
like company. Guests differ so much on this point that one must 
have unusual tact if, in entertaining much, an occasional error be 
not committed. Some are so painfully anxious to avoid giving 
trouble that an additional dish makes them miserable, quite forget- 
ting that with many a good, kind-hearted entertainer, this very 
trouble is a pleasure. Some again find then* own habits so impe- 
rious that they play ' Dribble' in other people's houses, putting 
everybody out as to time, place and circumstance, without a misgiv- 
ing. A noted lady traveling in this country some years ago, 
required her bottle of Champagne every night on going to bed, and 
that in the soberest of eastern famihes. This, too, was only an 
item in the list of her rather onerous inamissibles. We have heard 
more than one anecdote of popular clergymen, who, during occa- 
sional visits to their gi-eatest admirers, have construed the guest-right 
so rigorously as to cause the entire household to heave a simulta- 
neous sigh of rehef at then* departure. 

Conscientious people, whose habits are very strict, and who sin- 
cerely believe certain practices and certain articles of diet to be 
highly deleterious, are sometimes cruelly divdded between the desire 
to make their guests' time pass agreeably and to entertain them 
with the best the house affords, and the fear of contributing to evil 
habite or offering what is injmious to health. Since the temperance 
reformation, many persons have leai'ned to think every form of spirit- 
uous hquors so injm-ious that they dare not set anything of the kind 
before their friends ; while, on the other hand, the old ideas of gener- 
ous convi\dahty and hearty welcome attached to tliis form of refi'esh- 
ment are so potent, that they feel a species of regret — perhaps, also, 



30 THE EVENING BOOK. 



of false shame — which makes an adherence to principle in this par- 
ticular extremely difficult. Others, on the contrary, after all that 
has been said and written on the subject, seem still to fancy that 
they show their hospitality by pressing the guest to drink whether 
he will or not ; and even in a case where it was well knowni that the 
pei'son so pressed had been saved on the brink of ruin only by the 
resolution not to touch even a single glass, we have seen a lady 
tempt and urge the unfortunate ^nsitor, until she looked to us hke 
some fell Moenad luring a hapless mortal to destruction. 

Even in the matter of tea and coffee, some people have a con- 
science, and offer with reluctance to their friends what seems to them 
premature old age, depression of spirits, paralysis and eaiiy death. 
Others again are so over-kind that they must make your coffee 
strong enough to be sour and your tea to be bitter, reminding one 
of the story of the good old Jersey lady who entertained General 
Washington during the time of the war, when molasses was the 
usual sweetener. 

' Not quite so sweet, ma'am, if you please,' said the courteous 
gi'eat man, when he handed his tea-cup to be filled a second time. 

' Oh, deal- !' said the hospitable dame, putting in rather an extra 
share of the precious article, ' if it was all molasses it wouldn't be 
too good for General Washington !' 

Pinching hospitahty is bad enough, but ostentatious hospitahty, 
if possible, woi-se. To see in all your host's pompous offers, in all 
his sedulous attentions and all his unwearied display of resources, 
himself and not you the real object ; to feel that, while you are gene 
with his oppressive civihties, he considei-s himself laying you under 
the gi-eatest obligations ; to find ceremonious observance taking the 
place of welcome, and formality rendering ease impossible — this is 
but too common in this country as w^ell as elsewhere among those 



A CHAPTER ON HOSPITALITY. 31 



who lack nothing of this world's goods but the knowledge how to 
enjoy. A \isit under such circumstances is so odious that a guest 
would need to be presented with a good part of the fine things he 
sees — according to the practice of the worthy host in the Persian 
Tales — to induce him to make a second attempt. 

Sincerity is sometimes severely tried in cases where hospitahty 
appeal's to demand one course, while truth and nature cry out for its 
opposite. To seem glad to see a visitor when, from whatever cii'- 
cumstance, you wish he had chosen to stop anywhere else ; to be 
obhged to press him to stay when your aiFairs imperatively require 
that you should be left alone ; to feel constrained to be ' in spirits ' 
with a hea^y heart ; to wear a hilarious aspect when mirth is ' as 
vinegar to the teeth and as smoke to the eyes ;' that we should ever 
do or even attempt such things, shows how deeply we feel the claims 
of hospitality. They are done or attempted every day, not through 
self-interest or any such unworthy motive, but simply from the 
instinctive dread of seeming deficient in what mankind in all ages 
have agreed to consider a sacred duty. Those who, through morose- 
ness, pride, or parsimony, decline these and kindi'ed sacrifices, ai'e 
universally denounced as selfish chm-ls or haughty egotists, and voted 
inhuman by the general voice. 

Like many other virtues, hospitahty is practised in its perfection 
by the poor. If the rich did their share, how would the woes of I 
this world be hghtened ! how would the difflisive blessing irradiate 
a wider and a wider circle, until the vast confines of society would 
bask in the reviving ray ! If every forlorn widow whose heart bleeds 
over the recollection of past happiness made bitter by contrast witb 
present poverty and sori'ow, found a comfortable home in the ample 
establishment of her rich kinsman ; if every young man struggling 
for a foothold on the slippery soil of life, were cheered and aided by 



32 THE EVENING BOOK. 



the countenance of some neighbor whom fortmie had endowed with 
the power to confer happiness ; if the lovely girls, shrinking and 
dehcate, whom we see every day toihng timidly for a mere pittance 
to sustain fi-ail hfe and guard the sacred remnant of gentility, were 
taken by the hand, invited and encom-aged, by ladies who pass them 
by with a cold nod — but where shall we stop in enumerating the 
cases in which true, genial hospitahty, practised by the rich ungrudg- 
ingly, without a selfish di'awback — in short, practised as the poor 
practise it — would prove a fountain of blessedness, almost an anti- 
dote to half the keener miseries under which society groans ! 

Yes : the poor — and children — understand hospitahty after the 
pure model of Christ and his apostles. We can cite two instances, 
both true. 

In the western woods, a few years since, lived a very indigent 
Irish family. Their log-cabin scarcely protected them from the wea- 
ther, and the potato field made but poor provision for the numerous 
rosy cheeks that shone through the unstopped chinks when a stran- 
ger was passing by. Yet when another Irish family,, poorer stiU, 
and way-worn and travel-soiled, stopped at their door — children, 
household goods and ail — they not only received and entertained 
them for the night, but kept them many days, sharing with this 
family, as numerous as their own, the one room and loft which made 
up their poor dwelhng, and treating them in all respects as if they 
had been invited guests. And the mother of the same family, on 
hearing of the death of a widowed sister who had lived in New York, 
immediately set on foot an inquiry as to the residence of the chil- 
di'en, with a view to coming all the way to the city to take the 
oi-phans home to her own house and bring them up with her own 
children. We never heard whether the search was successful, for 
the circumstance occurred about the time we were leaving that |^art 



A CHAPTER ON HOSPITALITY. 33 



of the country ; but that the intention was sincere, and would be 
carried into effect if possible, there was no shadow of doubt. 

As to children and theh sincere, generous httle hearts, we were 
going to say, that one asked his mother, in all seriousness, ' Mamma, 
why don't you ask the poor people when you have a party ? Doesn't 
it say so in the Bible ?' A keen reproof, and unanswerable. 

The nearest we recollect to have observed to this literal construc- 
tion of the sacred injunction, among those who may be called the 
rich — in contradistinction to those whom we usually call the poor, 
though our kind friends were far from being what the world con- 
siders rich — was in the case of a city family, who hved well, and who 
always on Christmas day. Thanksgiving, or other festival time, when 
a dinner more generous than ordinary smoked upon the board, took 
cai-e to invite their homeless friends who lived somewhat poorly or 
uncomfortably — the widow from her low-priced boarding house ; the 
young clerk, perhaps, far from his father's comfortable fii'eside ; the 
daily teacher, whose only deficiency lay in the purse — these were 
the guests cheered at this truly hospitable board ; and cheered 
heartily — not with cold, half-reluctant ci\dlity, but with the warmest 
welcome, and the pleasant appendix of the long, merry evening 
with music and games, and the frohc dance after the piano. We 
would not be understood to give this as a solitary instance, but we 
wish we knew of many such. 

The forms of society are in a high degi-ee inimical to true hospi- 
tahty. Pride has crushed genuine social feeling out of too many 
hearts, and the consequence is a cold sterility of intercourse, a soul- 
stifling ceremoniousness, a sleepless vigilance for self, totally incom- 
patible with that free, flowmg, genial intercourse with humanity, so 
noiuishing to all the better feehngs. The sacred love of home — 
that panacea for many of life's ills — suffers with the rest. Few 
2*. 



34 THE EVENING BOOK. 



people have homes now a days. The fine, cheerful, eveiy-day par- 
lor, with its table covered with the implements of real occupation 
and real amusement ; mamma on the sofa, with her needle ; grand- 
mamma in her great chair, knitting; pussy winking at the fii'e 
between them, is gone. In its place we ha.ve two gorgeous rooms, 
arranged for company but empty of human hfe ; tables covered 
with gaudy, ostentatious and useless articles — a very mockery of 
anything Hke rational pastime — the hght of heaven as cautiously 
excluded as the delicious music of free, childish voices ; every mem- 
ber of the family wandering in forlorn lonehness, or huddled in 
some ' back room' or ' basement,' in which are collected the only 
means of comfort left them under this miserable arrangement. 
This is the substitute which hundreds of people accept in place of 
home ! Shall we look in such places for hospitahty ? As 
soon expect figs from thistles. Invitations there will be occasionally, 
doubtless, for ' society' expects it ; but let a countiy cousin present 
himself, and see whether he wiU be put into tlte state apartments. 
Let no infirm and indigent relative expect a place under such roof. 
Let not even the humble individual who placed the stepping-stone 
which led to that fortune, ask a share in the abundance which 
would never have had a beginning but for his timely aid. ' We 
have changed all that !' 

But setting aside the hospitahty which has any reference to duty 
or obligation, it is to be feared that the other kind — that which is 
exercised for the sake of the pleasure it bring*s — is becoming more 
and more rare among us. The deadly strife of emulation, the mad 
pursuit of wealth, the suspicion engendered by rivalry, leave littlo 
chance for the spontaneity, the abandon, the hearty sympathy which 
give the charm to social meetings and make the exercise of hospi- 
tality one of the highest pleasures. AVe have attempted to dignify 



A CHAPTER ON HOSPITALITY. 35 



our simple republicanism by far-away, melancholy imitations of the 
Old World ; but the incongruity between these forms and the true 
spirit of our institutions is such, that all we gain is a bald empti- 
ness, gilded over with vulgar show. Real dignity, such as that of 
John Adams when he Hved among his country neighbors as if he ! 
had never seen a comt, we are learning to despise. We persist in 
making om*selves the laughing-stock of really refined people, by for- 
saking our true ground and attempting to stand upon that which 
shows our deficiences to the greatest disadvantage. When shall we 
learn that the ' spare feast — a radish and an egg,^ if partaken by the 
good and the cultivated, has a charm which no expense can pur- 
chase ? When shall we look at the spirit rather than the semblance 
of things — when give up the shadow for the substance ? 



THE MYSTERY OF VISITING. 

There is something wonderfully primitive and simple in the fun- 
damental idea of visiting. You leave your own place and your 
chosen employments, your slipshod ease and privileged plainness, 
and sally forth, in special trim, with your mind emptied, as far as 
possible, of whatever has been engi-ossing it, to make a descent upon 
the domicile of another, mider the idea that your presence will give 
him i^leasure, and, remotely, yourself. Can anything denote more 
amiable simplicity ? or, according to a certain favorite vocabulary, 
can anvthing be more intensely gTeen ? What a confession of the 
need of human sympathy ! What honliommie in the conviction that 
you will be welcome ! What reckless self-committal in the whole 
affair ! Let no one say this is not a good-natured world, since it 
still keeps up a reverence for the fossil remains of what was once th^ 
heart of its oyster. . 

Not to go back to the creation (some proof of self-denial, in these 
days of research,) what occasioned the first \'isit, probably ? Was 
it the birth of a baby, or a wish to borrow somewhat for the simple 
householdry, or a cause of complaint about some rural trespass ; a 
desu-e to share superabundant grapes vnth a neighbor who abounded 
more in pomegranates ; a twilight fancy for gossip about a stray kid, 
or a wound from ' the bhndboy's butt-shaft V AVas the delight of 



THE MYSTERY OF VISITING. Zl 



visiting, like the succulence of roast pig, discovered by chance ; or 
was it, like the talk which is its essence, an instinct ? This last we 
particularly doubt, from present manifestations. Instincts do not 
wear out ; they are as fresh as in the days when visiting began — but 
where is visiting ? 

A curious semblance of the old rite now serves us, a mere Duessa 
— a form of snow, impudently pretending to vitality. We are put 
off with this congelation — a compound of formahty, dissimulation, 
weariness, and vanity, which it is not easy to subject to any test 
without resolving it at once into its unwholesome elements. Yet 
why must it be so ? Would it require dai-ing equal to that which 
dashed into the enchanted wood of Ismeno, or that which exter- 
minated the Mamelukes, to fall back upon first principles, and let 
inclination have somethino- to do with offering and returnin£C visits 1 

A coat of mail is, strangely enough, the first requisite when we 
have a round of calls to make ; not the ' silver arms ' of fair Clorinda, 
bat the unlovely, oyster-hke coat of Pride, the helmet of Indiflfei- 
ence, the breastplate of Distrust, the barred visor of Self-esteem, the 
shield of ' gentle Dulness ;' while over all floats the gaudy, tinsel 
scarf of Fashion. Whatever else be present or lacking, Pride, defen- 
sive, if not offensive, must clothe us all over. The eyes must be 
guarded, lest they mete out too much consideration to those who 
bear no stamp. The neck must be stiffened, lest it bend beyond 
the haughty angle of self-reservation in the acknowledgment of 
civilities. The mouth is bound to keep its portcullis ever ready to 
fall on a word which implies unaffected pleasure or sm-prise. Each 
motion must have its motive ; every civility its well-weighed return 
in prospect. Subjects of conversation must be any but those which 
naturally present themselves to the mind. If a certain round is not 
prescribed, vre feel that all beyond it is proscribed. Oh ! the unut- 



38 THE EVENING BOOK. 



terable weariness of tMs worse than dnmbsliow ! l^o wonder we 
groan in spirit when there are visits to be made ! 

But some fair, innocent face looks up at us, out of a forest home, 
perhaps, or in a wide, unneighbored prairie, and asks what all this 
means. 'Is not a visit always a dehghtful thing — full of good 
feehng — the cheerer of solitude — the hghtener of labor — the healer 
of differences — the antidote of hfe's bitterness V Ah ! primitive child ! 
it is so, indeed, to you. The thought of a visit makes yonr dear 
little heart beat. If one is offered or expected at your father's, with 
what cheerful readiness do you lend yom- aid to the preparations ! 
How your mnged feet skim along the floor, or surmount the stairs ; 
your brain full of ingenious devices and substitutes, your slender 
fingers loaded with plates and glasses, and a tidy apron depending 
from yom* taper waist! Thoughts of dress give you but little 
trouble, for your choice is hmited to the pink ribbon and the blue 
one. What the company will wear is of still less moment, so they 
only come ! It would be hard to make you believe that we imdte 
people and then hope they ^ill not come ! If you omit anybody, 
it mil be the friend who possesses too many acres, or he who has 
been sent to the legislature from your district, lest dignity should 
mterfere with pleasure ; we, on the contrary, think fii-st of the mag- 
nates, even though we know that the gloom of then- grandeur will 
overshadow the ninth of everybody else, and prove a wet blanket 
to the social fire. You will, perhaps, be surprised to learn that we 
keep a debtor and creditor account of visits, and talk of o^^ang a 
call, or owing an invitation, as your father does of owing a hundi'ed 
dollars at the store, for value received. Wlien we have made a 
visit and are about departing, we invite a return, in the choicest 
terms of affectionate, or at least cordial interest ; but if our friend is 
new enough to take us at our word, and pay the debt too soon, we 



THE MYSTERY OF VISITING 39 



complain, and say, ' Oh dear ! there's another call to make !' Our 
whole system of morning visiting will amuse you, doubtless ; we 
will just give you a sketch of it. 

A hint has already been di'opt as to the grudging spirit of the 
thing, how we give as httle as we can, and get all possible credit 
for it ; and this is the way we do it. Having let the accounts 
against us become as numerous as is prudent, we draw up a list of 
our creditors, carefully distiicted as to residences, so as not to make 
more cross-journeys than are necessary in going the rounds. Then 
we array ourselves with all suitable splendor (this is a main point, 
and we often defer a call upon dear fiiends for weeks, waiting till 
the arrivals from Paris shall allow us to endue a new bonnet or 
mantilla), and, getting into a carriage, card-case in hand, give our 
hst, corrected more anxiously than a price-current, into the keeping 
of the coachman, with dii*ections to drive as fast as dignity will 
allow, in order that we may do as much execution as possible with 
the stone thus carefully smoothed. Arrived at the first house (which 
is always the one farthest off, for economy of time), we stop — the 
servant inquires for the lady for whom our civility is intended, while 
we take out a card and hold it prominent on the carriage door, that 
not a moment may be lost in case a card is needed. ' Not at 
home V Ah then, with wliat pleased alacrity we commit the scrap 
of pasteboard to John, after having turned do^vn a corner for each 
lady, if there ai*e several in this kind and propitious house. But if 
the answer is, ' At home,' all wears a different aspect. The card 
slips sadly back again into its silver citadel ; we sigh, and say ' Oh 
deal- !' if nothing worse — and then, alighting with measured step, 
enter the drawing-room, all smiles, and with polite words ready on 
our hps. Ten minutes of the weather — the walking — the opera — 
fiamily illnesses — on dits, and a little spice of scandal, or at least a 



40 THE EVENING BOOK. 



shrug and a meaning look or two — and the duty is done. We 
enter the carriage again — urge the coachman to new speed, and go 
through the same ceremonies, hopes, regrets, and tittle-tattle, till 
dimier-time, and then bless our stare that w-e have been able to 
make twenty calls — ' so many people w'ere out !' 

But this is only one side of the question. How is it wdth us when 
we receive visits ? We enter here upon a deep mystery. Dear 
simple child of the w^oods and fields, did you ever hear of reception- 
days ? If not, let us enhghten you a httle. 

The original idea of a reception-day is a charmingly social and 
friendly one. It is that the many engagements of city life, and the 
distances which must be traversed in order to \Hlsit several friends in 
one day, make it peculiarly desirable to know when w^e are sure to 
find each at home. It may seem strange that this idea should have 
occurred to people who are confessedly glad of the opportunity to 
leave a card, because it allow^s them time to despatch a greater 
number of visits at one round ; but so it is. The very enormity of 
our practice sometimes leads to spasmodic efforts at reform. Ap- 
pointing a reception-day is, therefore, or, rather, we should say, luas 
intended to make morning-calls somethino; besides a mere form. To 
say you will always be at home on such a day, is to insure to your 
friends the pleasure of seeing you; and what a. charming conversa- 
tional circle might thus be gathered, without ceremony or restraint ! 
No wonder the fashion took at once. But what» has foshion made 
of this plan, so simple, so rational, so in accordance with the best 
uses of visiting ? Something as vapid and senseless as a court- 
drawing-room, or the eternal bowdngs and compliments of the 
Chinese ! You, artless blossom of the prairies, or belle of some 
rural city a thousand miles inland, should thank us for jHitting you 
on your guard against Utopian constructions of our social canons. 



THE MYSTERY OF VISITING. 41 



When you come to town with your good father, and find that the 
lady of one of his city correspondents sets apart one morning of 
every week for the reception of her friends, do not imagine her to 
be necessarily a ' good soul,' who hates to disappoint those who call 
'on her, and therefore simply omits going out on that day lest she 
should miss them. You will find her enshrined in all that is grand 
and costly ; her door guarded by servants, whose formal ushering 
will kill within you all hope of unaffected and kindly intercourse ; 
her parlors ghttering with all she can possibly accumulate that is 
recherche (that is a favorite word of hers), aud her own person ar- 
rayed with all the solicitude of splendor that morning dress allows, 
and sometimes something more. She will i-eceive you with practised 
grace, and beg you to be seated, perhaps seat herself by you and 
inquire after your health. Then a tall gi-ave servant will hand you, 
on a silver salver, a cup of chocolate, or some other permissible re- 
freshment, while your hostess glides over the carpet to show to a 
new guest or group the identical civihties of which you have just had 
the benefit. A lady sits at your right hand, as silent as yourself ; 
but you must neither hope for an introduction, nor dare to address 
her without one, since both these things are forbidden by our code.- 
Another sits at your left, looking wistfully at the fire, or at the stand 
of greenhouse plants, or, still more likely, at the splendid French 
clock, but not speaking a word ; for she, too, has not the happiness 
of knowing anybody who chances to sit near her. 

Presently she rises ; /the hostess hastens towards her, presses her 
hand with great affection, and begs to see her often. She falls into 
the custody of the footman at the parlor door, is by him committed 
to his double at the hall door, and then trips hghtly down the steps 
to her carnage, to enact the same farce at the next house whei-e 
there may be a reception on the same day. You look at the clock 



42 THE EVENING BOOK. 



too — rise — are smiled upon, and begged to come again ; and pass- 
ing through the same tunnel of footmen, reach the door and the 
street, with time and opportunity to muse on the mystery of 
visiting. 

Now you are not to go away with the idea that those who reduce 
visiting to this frigid system, are, of necesssity, heartless people. 
That would be very unjust. They are often people of very good hearts 
indeed ; but they have somehow allowed theii* notions of social inter- 
course to become sophisticated, so that visiting has ceased with them 
to be even a symbol of friendly feeling, and they look upon it as 
merely a mode of exhibiting wealth, style, and desirable acquain- 
tances ; an assertion, as it were, of social ]>osition. Then they will 
tell you of the great " waste of time" incurred by the old system 
of receiving morning calls, and how much better it is to give up 
one day to it than every day ; though, by the way, they never did 
scruple to be ' engaged' or ' out' when ^dsits were not desirable. 
Another thing is — but this, perhaps, they wiW not tell you, — that 
the present is an excellent way of refining one's circle ; for as the 
footman has strict orders not to admit any one, or even receive a 
cai'd, on other than the regular days, all those who are enough 
behind the age not to be aware of this, are gradually di-opt, their 
visits passing for nothing, and remaining unreturned. So fades 
away the momentary dream of sociability with which some simple- 
hearted people pleased themselves when they first heard of reception- 
days. 

But morning calls are not the only form of our social intercourse. 
We do not forget the claims of ' peaceful evening.' You have read 
Cowper, my dear young friend ? 

' Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast. 
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, 



THE MYSTERY OF VISITING. 43 



And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn 
Throws up a steaming column, and the cups 
That cheer, but not inebriate,' etc., etc. 

And you have been at tea-parties too, where, besides the excel- 
lent tea and coffee and cake, and warm biscuits and sliced tongue, 
there was wealth of good-humored chat, and if not wit, plenty of 
laughter, as the hours wore on towards ten o'clock, when cloaks and 
hoods were brought, and the gentlemen asked to be allowed to see 
the ladies home ; and, after a brisk walk, everybody was in bed at 
eleven o'clock, and felt not the worse but the better next morning. 
Well ! we have evening par-ties, too ! A little different, however. 

The simple people among whom you have been living really 
enjoyed these parties. Those who gave them, and those who went 
to them, had social pleasure as their object. The little bustle, or, 
perhaps, labor of preparation was just enough to mark the occasion 
pleasantly. People came together in good humor with themselves 
and with each other. There may have been some little scandal 
talked over the tea when it was too strong — but, on the whole, there 
was a friendly result, and everybody concerned would have felt it a 
loss to be deprived of such meetings. The very borrowings of cer- 
tain articles of which no ordinary, moderate household is expected 
to have enough for extraordinaiy occasions, promoted good neigh- 
borhood and sociabihty, and the deficiencies sometimes observable, 
were in some sense an antidote to pride. 

Now all this sounds hke a sentimental Utopian, if not shabby 
romance to us, so far have we departed from such primitiveness. To 
begin, we all say we hate parties. When we go to them we groan 
and declare them stupid, and when we give them we say still woi-se 
things. When we are about to give, there is a close calculation 
either as to the cheapest way, or as to the most recherche without 



44 THE E7ENJNG BOOK. 



regard to expense. Of course these two views apply to clifiereTit 
extent of means, and the former is the more frequent. Where 
money is no object, the anxiety is to do something that nobody else 
can do ; whether in splendor of decorations or costliness of supper. 
If Mrs. A. had a thousand dollars worth of flowers in her rooms, 
Mrs. B. will strain every nerve to have twice or three times as many, 
though all the green-houses within ten miles of the city must be 
stripped to obtain them. If Mrs. C. bought all the game in market 
for her supper, Mrs. D.'s anxiety is to send to the prairies for hers, — 
and so in other matters. Mrs. E. had the prima donna to sing at 
her soiree, and Mrs. F. at once engages the whole opera troupe. 
This is the principle, and its manifestations are infinite. But, per- 
haps, these freaks are charactei'istic of circles into which wondering 
eyes like yours are never likely to penetrate, so we will say some- 
thing of the other class of party-givers, those who feel themselves 
under a sort of necessity to invite a great many people for whom 
they care nothing, merely because these people have before invited 
them. Obligations of this sort are of so exceedingly complicated a 
character, that none but a metaphysician could be expected fully to 
unravel them. The idea of paying one invitation by another is the 
main one, and whether the invited choose to come or not, is very 
little to the purpose. The invitation discharges the debt, and 
places the pai'ty giver in the position of a creditor, necessitating of 
course, another party, and so on, in endless series. It is to be 
observed in passing, that both debtor and creditor in this shifting- 
scale believe themselves ' discharging a duty they owe society.' 
This is another opportunity of getting rid of undesirable acquain- 
tances, since to leave one to whom we ' owe' an invitation out of a 
general party is equivalent to a final dismissal. This being th^ 
case, it is, of course, highly necessary to see that everbody is asked, 



THE MYSTERY OF VISITING. 45 



and only those omitted whom it is desirable to ignore, and for this 
purpose, every lady must keep a ' visiting list.' It is on these occa- 
sions that we take care to invite our country friends, especially if 
we have stayed a few weeks at their houses dm*ing the preceding 
summer. 

The next question is as to the entertainment ; and this w^ould be a 
still more anxious affair than it is, if its form and extent were not in 
good measure prescribed by fashion. There are certainly must-haves 
and may-haves, here as elsewhere ; but the liberty of choice is not very 
extensive. If you do not provide the must-haves you are ' mean,' of 
course ; but it is only by adding the may-haves that you can hope 
to be elegant. The cost may seem formidable, perhaps ; but itthas 
been made matter of accurate computation, that one large party, 
even though it be a handsome one, costs less in the end than the 
habit of hospitahty for which it is the substitute ; so it is not worth 
while to flinch. We must do our ' duty to society,' and this is the 
cheapest way. 

Do you ask me if there are among us no old-fashioned people, 
who continue to invite their friends because they love them and 
wish to see them, offering only such moderate entertainment as may 
serve to promote social feehng ? Yes, indeed ? there are even some 
who will ask you to dine, for the mere pleasure of your company, 
and with no intention to astonish you or excite your en^y ! We 
boast that it was a lady of our city, who declined giving a large 
party to * return invitations,' saying she did not wish ' to exhaust in 
the prodigahty of a night, the hospitality of a year.' Ten such 
could be found among us, we may hope ; leaven enough, perhaps, 
to work out, in time, a change for the better in our social state. 
Conversation is by no means despised, in some circles, even though 
it turn on subjects of moral or hterary interest ; and pai-loi- rau?ic, 



46 THE EVENING BOOK. 



which aims at no eclat^ is to be heard sometimes among people who 
could afford to hire opera singers. 

It must be confessed that the wholesale method of ' doing up' 
om* social obligations is a convenient one on some accounts. It pre- 
vents jealousy, by placing all ahke on a footing of perfect indifference. 
The apportionment of civiUties is a very dehcate matter. Really, 
in some cases, it is walking among eggs to invite only a few of your 
friends at a time. If you choose them as being acquainted with 
each other, somebody will be offended at being included or excluded. 
If intellectual sympathy be your touchstone, for eveiy one gratified 
there will be two miffed, and so on with all other classifications. 
Attempts have been made to ob\iate this difficulty. One lady pro- 
posed to consider as congenial all those who keep carriages, but the 
cu'cle proved so very dull, that she was obhged to exert her inge- 
nuity for another common quality by which to arrange her soirees. 
Another tried the experiment of inviting her fashionable friends at 
one time, her husband's pohtical friends at another, and the reh- 
gious friends whom both were desirous to propitiate, at another ; but 
her task was as perplexing as that of the man who had the fox, the 
goose, and the bag of oats to ferry over the river in a boat that 
would hold but on-e of them at a time. So large parties have it ; 
and in the murky shadow of this simulacrum of sociability we are 
hkely to freeze for some time to come ; certainly until all pm'ely 
mercantile calculation is banished fi'om our civilities. 

It is with visiting as with travelling ; those who would make the 
most of either must begin by learning to renounce. We cannot 
do everything ; and to enjoy our friends we must curtail om* 
acquaintances. When we would kindle a fire, we do not begin by 
scattering the coals in every direction ; so neither should we attempt 
to promote social feeling by making formal calls one or t^vice a 



THE MYSTERY OF VISITING. 47 



year. If we give offence, so be it ; it shows that there was nothing 
to lose. If we find ourselves left out of what is called fashionable 
society, let us bless our stars, and devote the time thus saved to 
something that we really hke. What a gain there would be if any- 
thing drove us to li^^ng for ourselves and not for other people ; for 
om- fi'iends, rather than for a world, which, after all our sacrifices, 
cares not a pin about us ! 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. 

A YEAR or two ago, Blackwood, that ' nest of spiceiy,' gave us a 
series of brilliant papers on tlie JEsthetics of Dress, replete with such 
vakiable practical hints, that the hon ton should have given the 
writer a statue, draped on his own principles of taste and fitness ; 
not classic, perhaps, but deserving to become so. We considered 
him, at the time, a public benefactor, and hoped to see the truths 
he rendered so obvious make their due impression on our beaux and 
belles, ' well-preserved' bachelors, and ladies of a certain age ; guard- 
ino- them as^ainst some of the nameless but hideous errors which 
disguise beauty and render ugliness conspicuous. The application 
has not been as general as we could have desired. We still see 
triple skirts on squab-figures ; blush-roses on three-score ; scarlet 
flowers neighboring flaxen ringlets, and huge shawls enveloping forms 
which, under the most favorable circumstances, would remind one 
but too surely of Salmagundi's comparison of ' a bed and bolster, 
rolled up in a suit of curtains.' If we had our will, those papers 
would be republished in pamphlet form, and scattered all over the 
land, that our nascent gentihty might be trained in the growing. 
Dress may still be considered in a state of nature with us. Not 
that it is original or inventive ; for from these ! but running wild, in 
the direction of expense ; as the pumpkin-vine darts out its dispro- 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. 49 



portioned arms towards the brook, whicli will do nothing for it, after 
all, since it cannot nom-ish its roots. 

This beneficent Black woodian having said all that could be said of 
dress as a concern of the eyes merely, we propose, in our sober way, 
to take up the subject from a somewhat graver side, considering 
di'ess as having a meaning, or as being an expression of sentiment. 
Not to be frightfully serious, is all we can promise our youthful 
readers. If they should feel a tap now and then, we must say to 
them as the conscientious Quaker did to his wife when he was 
administering domestic disciphne,—' Why does thee cry so ? It's 
all for thy own good !" 

Dress may serve as either a grave or a gay subject. For those 
who relish satire, what can afford fairer game than the blunders of 
some unfortunate people, who, having come into possession of plenty 
of money, are more guided by costliness than taste in their choice of 
costume ? What overdoing and overlaying, what contradiction and 
monotony, what frippery and fiu'below, marks the trappings of such ? 
No militia adjutant on parade, no pet fire-engine in a procession, was 
ever worse bedizened. Who has not seen a lady get into a dusty 
omnibus with her pearl-colored skirts fluttering with flounces, her 
crape bonnet tremulous with flowers, her white shawl lustrous with 
embroidery, her wi'ists manacled with golden fetters and dangling 
lockets ; her laces, her deHcate gloves, her silver card-case, her glit- 
tering chains all point-de-vice — and — all shocking ! We pity where 
we are expected to admire — that is, we call by the amiable name of 
pity a feeling which, more severely construed, would be found to 
border closely on contempt. Each portion of the tout ensemble is 
beautiful ; perhaps even the whole might not be offensive for some 
particular and private display ; but for an omnibus ! There is some- 
thing profane in the public eye, and therefore the outdoor costume 



50 THE EVENING BOOK. 



of a well-bred woman should never be such as to attract and fix it, 
at least in particulars, or by reason of costliness or show. 

Moralizers sometimes say we should not judge of people by their 
dress. But we may and ought, though without transgressing the 
law which this wise saw is intended to imply, supposing it to mean 
that we are not to despise those who are not dressed richly or with 
elegance. It is true some good people dress badly, judged by the 
common standard ; yet dress must be characteristic where it is the 
result of fi-ee choice ; even the beggar may wear his rags ' with 
a difference.' The sentimental novelists, who have in general no 
gi-eat insight, have discovered this ; vu'tuous poverty is, with 
them, always pictm'esque. We, however, who deal with common 
facts rather than with uncommon fancies, should hardly think it fair 
to judge the very poor by then dress. We speak only of those to 
whom costume is a subject of reflection and of taste. This class is 
quite numerous enough to afford matter for our paper. 

People who hve in a state of abstraction must of course be ex- 
cused for sins against taste in dress. Grave and reverend professors 
have been known to do or leave undone strange things ; the outward 
man suffering in proportion as the inner soared to the depths sub- 
lime of science or speculation. A letter-writer from Germany de- 
scribes the celebrated Neander as going one degree beyond Dominie 
Sampson, in indifference to popular prejudice on this subject. And 
Goethe tells a good story of Gottsched, a German savant whom he 
\isited at Leipzig, who entered the room, when summoned to receive 
stranger guests, with his monstrous bald head totally uncovered ; and 
when his servant rushed in with a great full-bottomed peruque, 
which was his head-gear of ceremony, dealt the unfortunate lackey a 
sound box on the ear for not having put it on him before he had 
exhibited himself in such a ridiculous plight ; talking all the while 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. 51 



witli the most perfect coolness and self-possession. There used to be 
an old scandal against literaiy ladies, charging them with careless- 
ness in respect of appearance. Pope, after he quarrelled with his 
adored Lady Mary, was never tired of holding up her slatternly 
habits as the consequence of bookish propensities ; but this is ex- 
ploded now. Literary ladies are not easily distinguishable from other 
women by any outward marks ; and it would probably startle a 
gentleman to be received, as tradition says an American has-hleu of 
the last century received a visiter of distinction — with her head tied 
up in brown paper and vinegar, a foho resting on her ]^p, and her 
feet immersed in hot water ! 

Grave occupations cannot be supposed to interfere with due at- 
tention to di'ess in all cases, for the clergy are the best dressed men 
amono' us ; even the most dressed, if we except the small class of 
fledghng exquisites, whose minds the tie of a cravat is sufficient to fill. 
Although not bound to a particular costume, as in England, our 
clergy may almost be said to di'ess in uniform, for the black suit 
and the white cravat mark them unmistakeably. And the threadbare 
appearance that we have read of, as sometimes characterizing the less 
fortunate members of the profession in former days, would be a 
phenomenon ; nobody now living ever saw a shabby suit of clerical 
black. One would think the whole class passed daily through the 
hands of those ingenious persons who advertise to make worn cloth 
" look equal to new." We cannot deny that there is something 
pleasant to us in this reminiscence of the day when a gentleman was 
distinguishable by his dress. The plainness, approaching even to 
neglect, observable in grave men of other professions, shocks our 
cherished prejudices. We would have the scholar look like a 
scholar ; let him be " melancholy" if he will, so he be " gentleman- 
like." It is his right and duty. It is true. 



62 THE EVENING BOOK. 



A heavenly mind 
May be indifferent to its house of clay, 
And slight the hovel as beneath its care — 

but there is a fitness in the ' customary suit of solemn black' for the 
man who deals with gi-ave matters. How should we like to see 
Hamlet flaunting in buff and blue ; or Dr. Primrose in plaid neck- 
cloth and corduroys ? 

Lockhart describes Mr. Crabbe, standing in the midst of half a 
dozen stalwart Highlanders at Sir Walter Scott's, the Celts in full 
costume on the occasion of the King's visit to Edinburgh ; the poet- 
clergyman, di'essed in the highest style of professional decorum, with 
powdered head, buckles in his shoes, and whatever else was befitting 
one of his years and station. The Highlandei*s mistook the chm-ch- 
man for some foreign Abbe, or, as one account says, for a French 
dancing-master, and began to talk French to hun ; while he, in his 
turn, supposed them to be a parcel of wild and rather dangerous 
savages. It was only after Sir Walter entei-ed the room and intro- 
duced his friends to each other, that they discovered themselves to 
be all equally peaceable British gentlemen, made strangers to each 
other only by being at the antipodes of di*ess. 

It has been the well-motived atttempt of some morahsts to repre- 
sent dress as a thing of no consequence ; undeserving the attention of 
a rational being. But truth and nature are too strong for this com- 
pulsive pedantry of purism. Every man, woman, and child, knows 
that dress is a thing of consequence to the wearer ; and all the bio- 
graphei-s bear testimony to fact that it is also important to the 
beholder ; for they never fail to describe the habitual costume of 
their subject where it can be ascertained, as at least one means of 
msight into character. Could we have pardoned Mr. Boswell 
if he had given us no hint of Dr. Johnson's 'vest unbuttoned, and 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. 53 



wig awry ;' his shabby snufF-colored study suit, and the laced one 
which he jDut on when great doings were on the carpet ? Or could 
we have believed him if he had described his hero prim and powdered, 
silk-stockinged, and shinicg-shoed ? Goldsmith, with his gnawing 
deshe to be hked, confessed the importance of dress, by going beyond 
his means in finery, which he imagined would help to hide his 
awkwardness, when he was to m»eet those whom he wished to please. 
Madame Goethe, the poet's mother, when she prepared to receive a 
visit of honor from Madame de Stael, arrayed herself so gorgeously 
in dazzhng silks, with nodding plumes of two or three colors, that 
Bettina came near fainting with laughter ; and the same Bettina, 
who found the good lady's desire to strike so ridiculous, has lost the 
respect of the world by a personal neglect far more offensive than 
the most mistaken efforts to please. How many descriptions of 
costunis are to be found in Horace Walpole's acrid letters ! One 
would think his soul might once have inhabited the body of a com't- 
milliner. And vdth what gusto does Pepys dwell upon his purchases 
of rich attire for himself and his wife — ' a night-gown, a great 
bai-gain at 24s.,' and 'the very stuff for a cloak cost £6, and the 
outside of a coat £8,' costume being, evidentl}", in his eyes, one of 
the great engines of human life. ISTovelists of all classes confess the 
significance of di-ess, when they devise expressive gowns and orna- 
ments for their heroines, and appropriate drapery for their terrible 
and gi'otesque characters. Richardson understood this matter per- 
fectly. In order to set Sir Charles Grandison and Miss Byron 
distinctly before us, every article they wore is described; color, form, 
texture, and cost. Miss Burney showed her sympathy with her 
sex, by confessing the temptations of dress to young ladies in society. 
Part of Camilla Tyi-old's terrible troubles, over which so many 
youthful tears have been shed, arose from her having been led into 



54 THE EVENING BOOK. 



extravagance by the example of Mrs. Beiiinton, and the wiles of Mi-s. 
Mittin, and so I'unning her father in debt until he was thrown into 
jail on her account. Sir Walter Scott does not disdain to expatiate 
largely on the costume of his figm^es, and to show that to him di'ess 
was as truly part of the man or woman, as the more strictly natui'al 
and indispensable envelopings of the soul. His own dress had a 
suitable sturdiness, expressive of the ti*ue, manly, human side of his 
character ; that side which had withstood the conventional tempta- 
tions and delusions too potent with us all. ' An old green shooting- 
jacket, with a dog-whistle at the button-hole, brown linen pantaloons, 
stout shoes that tied at the ankles, and a white hat that had 
evidently seen service,' constituted the array in which the ' mighty 
minstrel' came limping down the gravel-walk at Abbotsford to meet 
"Wasliington Irving. When he di-essed for dinner, he appeared in 
black, as became the gentleman and the poet. Now, the broad- 
backed coat, the heavy shoes, and the stout stick, are shown in the 
hall closet at Abbotsford, sad and most characteristic memorials of 
one to whose gifted eye trifles were instinct with meaning. 

It is somewhat to be wondered at, that a people so notedly 
shrewd as the Society of Friends, should have set themselves dehb- 
erately at stemming a cmTent which evidently takes its rise some- 
where deep in the foundations of our being ; and still more that 
they should have attempted to reduce the importance and seductive- 
ness of dress by making it an object of strenuous attention. There 
is, however, much that is rational in a utiHtarian point of ^^ew, as 
well as much plausibility in a rehgious one, in their stringent rules 
as to form, color, and expensiveness in costume. The form is 
intended as a protest against the silly evanescence of the fashions, 
which, not satisfied with changing as often as the moon, scarcely out- 
last tlie lunar rainbow. The reonlatcd cut is that which all the 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. 55 



world wore when the sect first assumed a distinct existence. The 
prevaihng drab has an obvious intent, as excluding gay and attrac- 
tive colors, which are apt to beguile young eyes and thoughts. The 
proscription of certain rich and costly materials respects the general 
caution against conformity to the worldly standard, which is that of 
cost, and also the duty of reserving our means for better objects than 
mere outward beautifying. It needs no argument to show the 
excellence of these latter reasons for plain dress ; and society gives 
them the assurance of its approval, by making it the most frequent 
gi'ound of sarcasm against the Quakers, that they indemnify them- 
selves for plain cut and color by wearing the most expensive fabrics, 
an inconsistency too obvious for excuse. Whether this general 
charge be just or not, it is certain that many conscientious Friends 
would as soon wear scarlet gowns as silken ones, or dashing waist- 
coats as fine broadcloth. 

One advantage of the plain or Quaker di'ess is that it renders 
neatness indispensable. What is partly dust-colored already, 
becomes Id tolerable after it has contracted any soil ; and the nature 
of the soft neutral tints is such, that whatever is worn with them 
must be pm-e, or it is shown up, inevitably. Lace may be yellow, 
and rich ribands crumpled, with small offence ; but a plain cap 
depends for its beauty upon snowy whiteness and a perfect accuracy 
and primness of outline. ' The very garments of a Quaker,' says 
Charles Lamb, ' seem incapable of receiving a soil ; and cleanliness 
in them to be something more than the absence of its contrary. 
Every Quakeress is a hly : and when they come up in bands to 
their AVhitsun conferences, whitening the easterly streets of the 
metropohs, they show like troops of the Shining Ones.' Every one 
is charmed with this dress in its perfection ; we never hear any one 
say it is not beautiful, at least on young women, whose fresh faces 



56 THE EVENING BOOK. 



do not need the relief of imdiilating laces or rich colors. The 
primness of the style, and the habitual or enforced placidity of the 
countenances of those who use it, have given occasion for charges 
of affectation or coquetry in the young sisters. But they may be 
consoled : for the imputation of trying to be charming is, in this 
case, only a confession that they are so. 

The grace and beauty of the Quaker dress depends — as all that 
is lovely in outward manifestation must — upon its being a true 
expression of the spirit. Where it is simply formal, it is hard and 
ungainly ; whei'e it is compulsory, it betrays the wearer's true 
tastes and wishes by unconscious deviations fi'om the standard, and 
leanings towards the forbidden. Where it is worn on con\^ction, it 
is exact and not unbecoming; but if the result of enthusiasm, it 
becomes classic and elegant as Koman drapery. We have seen a 
Friend who, without the least ostentation, refi-ained from wearing 
anything that had been dyed, preferring garments of the natm'al 
color, as being the extreme of simphcity. The world might laugh 
at such a twilight-gray as this combination of soft bro-\vns produced^ 
but the painter would have found in it something congenial to his 
eye, and a pecuhar value in the power with which it set off a fresh, 
ruddy complexion and silver hair. We remember a full-length pic- 
ture of Thorwaldsen, painted in Italy, which reminded us, in its 
truly Quaker dress, of the undyed Friend we had seen years before. 
It is noticeable that sculptors have no escape fi'om the difficulties of 
modern costume, except in a near approach to the simplicity of the 
Quaker garb. If the marble man must have a coat on, the sculptor 
perforce shaves off all lappels and finicalities, and comes as near a 
seamless garment as possible — giving unconscious testimony to the 
essential good taste of the followers of George Fox. 

It is the compulsoriness of this dress that spoils it as an exj^res 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. 5*7 



sioii of taste or sentiment. If it had been left to every man's con- 
science wlietlier to adopt or to reject the uniform, it would have 
continued to have a meaning. As con\dctions deepened, indifference 
to worldly opinion would have become more and more evident, by the 
gradual disuse of worldly fashion, and conformity to the standard 
of denominational simphcity. But where no liberty is allowed, 
there can be no merit or significancy of choice. The plain garb 
becomes not a whit more dignified than any other uniform which 
is worn at peril of cashiering. Thousands whoso conscience 
approve the tenets of the Friends, and whose taste and judgment 
favor extreme plainness and inexpensiveness of dress in people T\ho 
profess serious aims in life, have been deterred from joining the 
society by a feehng that, to renounce one's judgment in a matter so 
personal as dress, is practically degrading. The garb is intended as 
an expression of a certain religious condition, yet it is to be worn 
with the strictest attention to arbitrary rules, the least deviation 
from which subjects the wearer to the interference of his fellow- 
Christians ! This mistake towards bondage is one great reason why, 
while the principles of the Quakers are daily influencing those of 
the world m.ore and more, the Society, as a society is on the 
dechne. Eehgious hbei-ty is more precious to the heart than any 
other ; and the more sincere and ardent our desire to withstand the 
bad example of worldly people, the less should we be disposed to 
adopt any fixed outward symbol which might express a greater 
degree of renunciation than we had been able to reach. 

There is, no doubt, a reflex influence in dress. One of the best 
ways of inspiring the degraded with self-respect is to supply them 
with decent and suitable clothing. We are wholly unable, at any 
stage of cultivation, to withstand this influence. No lady is the 
same in a careless and untasteful morning envelope, and an elegant 



68 THE EVENING BOOK. 



evening di-ess ; the former lowers lier tone — depreciates her to her- 
self, even though the latter may be quite incapable of inspiring her 
with pride. No man feels quite at ease in a shining new coat ; he 
is conscious of an inequality between his present self and the old 
friend whom he could have met so warmly yesterday. The friend 
may not notice the coat or its influence, but the wearer never forgets 
it. The Spectator, or some one of those cunning old observers, tells 
of a young lady who carried herself with unusual hauteur, and 
seemed to feel a new consciousness of power, upon no greater occa- 
sion than the wearing of a new pair of elegant garters. This affords 
an argument both for and against dress. We ought not to wear 
what makes us proud and creates a secret contempt of others ; but 
neither should we neglect anything that aids our self-respect and 
keeps our spirits at the proper pitch. Some parents, from the best 
motives in the world, do their children serious injury by wilfully 
denying them such dress as may put them on an outward equality 
with their young companions, or make them feel equal. It is in 
vain to be philosophical for other people ; we must convince theii' 
judgments and bring them over to our way of thinking, before we 
can obtain true and healthy conformity. We submit with tolerable 
grace to restraints rendered necessary by cii'cumstances, but those 
which appear to us capricious or arbitrary do not often make us 
better, especially where they touch our pride — that tissue of h-ritable 
nerves in which our moral being is enwi'apt. 

Every one must have noticed the effect of dress upon the character 
and condition of servants. Those who have grown up in houses 
where slatternly personal habits are allowed, never become really 
respectable, even although they may have many good quahties 
They do not respect themselves, and their sympathy with their 
employers is blunted by the great difference in outward appeai-ance. 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. 59 



It is true that domestics sometimes act so earnestly upon this 
principle, that they end in erring on the side of too much attention 
to costume. We remember once, and once only, finding. at a foreign 
hotel a chambermaid di'essed in silk, with artificial roses in her haii' 5 
the feehng that she would not be of much use to us flashing across 
the mind at once. English servants hit the happy medium oftener 
than any other ; their tidiness suggests alacrity, and we have a com- 
fortable assm-ance of being well served, as soon as we look upon 
them. It is odd what a difference one feels in offering a gratuity to 
a well or ill-dressed attendant in travelling. Shabbiness favors our 
penuriousness, most remarkably ! The eye scans the expectant 
instinctively, and instead of the generous impulse to give most fiber- 
ally to those who need, we graduate om* donation by the probable 
expectation of one who has evidently not found the world very 
generous. If the servant be well enough dressed to bespeak inde- 
pendence, and especially if he be gifted with the modest assurance 
which is often both cause and consequence of good fortune, pride 
whispers us at once not to disgust so genteel a person by a shabby 
gift, and we bestow on success what we should grudge to necessity. 

"Who can guess the influence of dress upon the soldier ? What 
would be the spirit of an army in plain clothes, patched at the 
elbows, or even frosty at the seams ? In this inquiry we bar the 
American Revolution^ and the * looped and windowed raggedness' 
of its heroes, as not being in point. We are speaking of soldiers by 
profession, not of men in arms for their altars and their fires. How 
many of our young men would seek commissions if the Quaker garb 
were prescribed ? Sydney Smith speaks of the privilege of orna- 
menting one's head with the tail of a belligerent bird, and covering 
with gold lace the course of the ischiatic nerve, as among the strong 
reasons for military ardor, and he was doubtless right. If bravery 



60 THE EVENING BOOK. 



depended on the internal stock of solid, deliberate com-age, there 
would be fewer soldiers : ' a swashing and a martial outside' inspires 
the imagination, at least, if not the reason. But what has reason to 
do with fighting, a matter in which cocks and bull-dogs are so far 
superior to men ? 

The conventual dress has evidently no httle power over the imagi- 
nation, and consequently over the character and feelings of the 
wearer. ]!^o one can see a nun without being sensible of this. 
There is such a careful significance about it, and it is so different in 
principle from the dress of the world, that it would seem as if 
worldly passions and affections could hardly live within it. The 
Black and the Gray nuns, of certain orders, wear bands of starched 
linen v/hich entirely hide the forehead, cheeks, chin, and bust, while 
the back of the head and person is equally concealed by a veil of 
black serge, fastened at the crown and so arranged that a portion 
can be drawn over the eyes. This is the nun of our youthful fancy, 
and we cannot approach her without a degree of awe, while, on her 
part, she seems to feel herself a sacred person. Turn her out into 
the world and dress her hke other women, and new cares and wishes 
would roll in upon her like a flood, for she would lack one continual 
memento, if not support, of her sanctity. Beads and breviaries 
would soon seem out of place among jewels and laces ; as embar- 
rassing as, 25er contra, were the flounces of a dashing dame whom 
we saw painfully toiling up the Scala Santa on her knees, and 
obliged to lift and manage her rebelhous finery at every rise. The 
nuns at the Beguinage, near Ghent, wear great wide-bordered caps, 
hke market-women, and so they seemed very much in place sitting 
in the shade of the wall, shelling beans, and chattering among them- 
selves, with no great appearance or perhaps even feeling of dignity 
although they arc said to be mostly high-born. We may urge this 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. 61 



reflex influence of dress against the indulgence of expensive or 
showy tastes. The appetite grows with what it feeds on; our 
standard rises with our habits. When we are used to the feehng 
which accompanies rich and recherche, costume, a lower style seems 
to us mean and unworthy, especially on ourselves — it is well if the 
influence go no further. What pitiable instances we see of a 
depression that has no better source than the lack of means to dress 
expensively, after the habit had been formed ; what a craven spirit 
is that which has nothing better to sustain it than the consciousness 
of elegant clothing ! Poor human nature ! Few of us dare profess 
to be free from this weakness. It is strange that literary efforts 
should be sometimes dependent on dress, yet we are assured that 
this is the case. One author can only wi'ite in dishabille, another in 
full dress. Richardson required a laced suit, and a diamond on his 
finger ; Rousseau acknowledged a similar dependence at certain 
periods of his hfe. We once knew a minister who never wrote a 
good sermon unless he had his old study-gown on. Scott boasted 
that he never learned any of the night-gown-and-slipper tricks that 
hterary men are apt to indulge in, but pursued his avocations in his 
ordinary gear. Lady-authors do not let the world into the secrets 
of their boudoir ; but we suspect few of them write with arms 
covered with bracelets, or waists compressed to French-print pattern, 
however they may own subjection to these vanities in their ordinary 
states. Literary pursuits have certainly some shght tendency to 
preserve the mind from too exclusive devotion to appearance ; let 
this atone for some of the sins which they are supposed to favor. 

One vice of dress literary ladies are accused of, and sometimes 
justly, viz. : a predilection for the picturesque. We call this a vice 
of dress, because it generally makes the wearer remarkable, and not 
pleasantly so. Dress may be sometimes individual without offence ; 



62 THE EVENING BOOK. 



ordi^iily, good taste and good breeding requii'e that it should, in 
its general aspect, conform to the common standard, not to an ideal 
one pecuhar to the wearer. It must be remembered that costume 
which would serve admii-ably for a pictm-e or a description, may be 
quite unpresentable in a drawing-room. In the old satirical novel of 
Cherubina, or the Heroine, the lady, impassioned for the picturesque, 
takes ' an entire piece of the finest cambric,' and disposes it most 
statuesquely about her person. ' A zone, a clasp, and a bodkin,' she 
says, ' completed aU !' But the result was disastrous. Far short 
of this extreme, we have seen imaginative ladies make the most 
extraordinary figure in company, from the indulgence of an indi- 
vidual taste in dress, instead of a modest acquiescence with the reign- 
ing mode. 

' What ! be a slave to fashion !' ' No, but make fashion your 
servant, by using it just so far as it serves your purpose, i. e., enables 
you to present a becoming and respectable appearance m society/ 
We venture to say that it is hardly possible to respect anybody who 
is fantastically dressed. To differ much fi-om others in this matter, 
bespeaks a degi'ee of thought and plan on the part of the wearer, 
which detracts fi'om dignity of character. We all like the company 
of even an ultra-fashionist, made up by tailors or milliners, better 
than of one who forces us to notice trifles, by appearing in array so 
peculiar as to strike the eye while it offends the habit, at least, if not 
the -judgment. To be passive under the hands of people who make 
it their business to study the forms, effect, and harmony of di'ess is 
surely wiser than to usurp their office, for which one's own habitual 
employments are likely to do anything but prepare. A veto power 
must be reserved, however, for people who live always in an atmos- 
phere of decoration are rather prone to overdress one, if they are not 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. 63 



watched. Eyes accustomed to a furnace glare may learn to deem 
the hght of common day ineffectual. 

Women generally have an intense dislike to the picturesque style 
in female dress, and they are not at all apt to think favorably of the 
stray sheep who adopt it. Some ' ill-avis'd' pei-sons fancy that ladies 
di'ess for the eyes of gentlemen, but this opinion shows little know- 
ledge of the sex. Gentlemen dress for ladies, but ladies for each 
other. The anxiety that is felt about the pecuharities of fashion, the 
chase after novelty, the thirst for expense, all refer to women's judg- 
ment and admiration, for of these particulars men know nothing. 
Here we touch upon the point in question. Women who depart 
from fashion in search of the picturesque are suspected of a special 
desire to be charming to the other sex, a fault naturally unpardon- 
able, for ought we not all to start fair ? Has any individual a right 
to be weaving private nets, and using unauthorized charms ? A 
lady who values her character, had better not pretend to be inde- 
pendent of the fashion. The extra admiration of a few of her more 
poetical beaux will not compensate for the angry sarcasms she must 
expect from her own sex. This is a matter in which we find it hard 
to be merciful, or even candid. 

Shall the becoming, then, be sacrificed to the caprices of fashion, 
which consults neither complexion, shape, nor air, but considers the 
female sex only as a sort of dough, which is to be moulded at plea- 
sure, and squeezed into all possible forms, at the waving of a wand ? 
We do not go so far. There are rules of taste — standards of grace 
and beauty — boundaries of modesty and propriety — restraints of 
Christian benevolence. Saving and excepting the claims of these, 
we say follow the fashion enough to avoid singularity, and do not 
set up to be an inventor in costume. 

Of the artifices of dress, we might say a good deal, if we were not 



64 THE EVENING BOOK. 



afraid of growiDg intolei-ably serious. Not so much the artifices by 
which defects of person are rendered less noticeable, as those which 
are intended to compass an appearance beyond our means. This 
leads to mock jewelry, and various other meannesses, as well as to 
that vicious habit of shopping which tempts the salesman to dis- 
honesty, by showing him it is vain to hope to sell good articles at 
fair prices. 'We've been cutting up several whole pieces of lace 
into remnants,'' said a shopman the other day, in oiu: hearing, 
' because ladies will not buy unless we have remnants for them.' 
And the time that is spent in walking miles in chase of bargains, 
which generally prove dear enough in the end, might be considered 
worse than wasted, if it were not that there is some exercise for the 
muscles in this sort of enterprise. It is true that the desire to get 
what the English call yom* ' pen'orth,' is a natural one, and that it 
is not very easy to draw the line between a proper care of one's 
money, and too great a sohcitude to obtain ' cheap things.' Nobody 
knows with certainty, except the purchaser herself, what is the 
motive, and what the merit or demerit of the labor she submits to 
in shopping ; but she knows very loell, and to her must the decision 
be referred. If a weak hankering after a style of dress more costly 
than we can honestly afford, causes us to shop in a mean and grasp- 
ing w^ay, we, at least know it, whether any one else discover it or 
not, and it is a matter very well worth an hour's thought and 
sifting. 

There is, perhaps, nothing more hardening to the heart, in a small 
way, than the habit here alluded to. After we have once set our 
mark too high, and are straining every nerve to approach it, no 
spare dollar is ever at our command for a benevolent or friendly pur- 
pose. The too-great toils of an anxious husband — painful contrasts 
with less aspiring or less successful friends — the half-paid labors of 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. 65 



the poor seamstress who contributes to further om* selfish aims — ^the 
sight of suffering which has just claims upon us — all are as nothing 
and less than nothing. Conscience, pity, and affection are not more 
sui'ely blunted by any of the so-called minor offences, than by a pur- 
suit of di-ess in this temper. The competition is too keen for ft-iend- 
ship, too petty for generosity, almost too grasping for honesty. We 
have high authority for believing that it has even been known to 
lead to insanity, and, judging by some extreme cases within our 
notice, we can well imagine it. A pm-suit so futile, so inimical to all 
that is serious and ennobhng, can hardly be safe ; for Nature v/ill 
revenge hei-self when we trample her best gifts under foot, and insist 
on choosing for ourselves a position in the scale of being far lower 
than that which she assigns us. 

The practice of wearing mom-ning for departed friends, once uni- 
versal in this country, has fallen into disuse in no inconsiderable 
degi-ee. Many persons dechne wearing it from a conscientious 
scruple — saying, that although it is undoubtedly a gratification to 
our feehngs to discard all gay colors when the heart is oppressed 
with grief, yet the practice among the richer classes of wearing 
mourning, leads the poor — whose giief is equally sincere, and who 
feel the same desire to show respect for the memory of the dead — 
into expenses they cannot afford. Even among that large class 
whose means barely suffice for a genteel appearance, it often happens 
that to lay aside all the clothing already prepared for a family, and 
buy a new outfit of expensive materials, is extremely uiconvenient, 
and leads to painful sacrifices for ah inadequate cause. 

This has always appeared to us rather a difficult point. To those 
whose only law of conduct is implied in the inquiry, ' What will 
people say V it is not a question at all ; since the bare possibiKty 
that their conduct will become the subject of remark, would operate 



66 THE EVENING BOOK. 



so powerfully with tliem as to exclude all consideration of the 
intrinsic propriety of any action. Nor to that other kind of 
mourners whose anxiety for "fashionable,' and 'becoming,' and 

* proper' mourning, often fills the house of death with bustle and 
animation, even while the cold remains which gave the excuse for 
new di'esses, are lying almost forgotten in the next room. These 
are the last to inquh-e into the meaning or effects of the custom. 
Its poetry, its philosophy, its utihty, its morality concerns them not. 
But to those whose hearts really long for some means of expressing 
their unavailing sorrow, who hate the sight of all that is gay, and 
almost of the blessed sun himself, during the fii'st paroxysm of 
giief, there is often a doubt as to the propriety of indulging the 
natm'al feehng ; and many have, at a great sacrifice, given up the 
wearing of mourning, from the consideration to which we allude — 
the inconvenience resulting to the poor from attempting to follow a 
fashion which their feelings prompt, as much as those of theh more 
fortunate neighboi-s. 

We acknowledoce the excellence of the motive, and the truth of 
the objection ; yet we confess an increasing reluctance to see a time- 
hallowed custom falling into disuse among those whose true and 
loving heai-ts would give it its real consecration. Besides the poetry 
of a ' garb of woe,' to give an outward shadow of the grief within 
there is a mute appeal to human sympathy, not without its uses in 
a world where every change is towards the cold individuality that 
affects to scorn all acknowledgment of mutual dependence. There 
is a touch of nature about it. The most afflicted man of old said, 

* Pity me, oh my friends ! for the hand of God has touched me !' 
and from his day to oiu-s, such is the true and natural language of 
the heart unbardened by pride and conventional refinement. AVe 
long for sympathy, however unavailing ; and though there i^' a mad 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. e7 



and wilful sorrow tliat repels it Tsath disdain, this is but tlie raving of 
an unsubdued spirit, rebelling against tbe hand that smites, and 
venting on the creature the anger whose real object is the Creator. 
When the better moment comes, and reason and religion restore the 
suflferer to himself, the deeper his affliction, the more sensible will he 
be to the humblest expression of sympathy. Those who feel not 
have not yet known grief. 

In a certain class of society, the extreme punctihousness with 
which all the rules for a ' proper' mourning costume are carried out, 
is in strange contrast to the superiority to human sympathy which 
is affected by the individuals concerned. So determined are they 
to own nothing in common with ordinary clay, that they resent, as 
an impertinent pei-sonalty, any particular inquiry after the health of 
a member of the family who is evidently wasting with consumption, 
or swollen with dropsy. They resolutely throw a veil over the 
infirmities of natui-e, and affect not to beheve that what they love, 

*Like commofl earth can rot.' 

And when the bolt has fallen, and it is impossible longer to con- 
ceal the humihating fact of a perishable nature like that of the 
meanest beggar, with what a haughty disdain they seclude them- 
selves from all eyes — except the dressmaker's — ^leaving to hirehngs 
all that relates to the last disposition of the remains, watchfid only 
that no cost or ceremony which may vindicate the claims of an 
unapproachable superiority may be lacking. Yet these very people, 
secluded in all the dignity of aristocratic grief, may often bo found 
in most anxious consultation with the ' artists' indispensable on such 
occasions, as to the width of a hem, the length of a weeper, or the 
latest style of a shroud ! And all this with reference to an impres- 
sion on the veiy multitude whom they affect to despise. 



68 THE EVENING BOOK. 



A mourning garb is not without its utility, in reminding of our 
loss, company who might otherwise forget that mirth would be dis- 
tasteful ; and in accounting for a grave and sad countenance, which 
might call forth remark or inquiry, which it would be painful to 
answer. There may be cases, too, and we think we could point to 
more than one, where bombazine and crape have served to keep in 
the minds of the younger and more thoughtless members of a 
family, that gaiety did not become those who had experienced a loss 
that could never be repaired, or even those who had recently passed 
through the sad scenes incident to a death in the house. But these 
considerations referring merely to the outward, are of small conse- 
quence. 

The conscientious scruple to which we referred, is one which we 
owe to the Puritanic spirit, among many good things and some of 
questionable advantage. The cultivation of an ever present regard 
for the good of others is always commendable, but we must take the 
wide and not the narrow \iew as to what is the best good of those 
whom we would benefit. The domestic affections are among the best 
safeguards of virtue ; and whatever tends to keep these ahve and 
warm is of incalculable value. The utihtarian view, which would curtail 
as much as possible the sorrow for the dead, is a chilling and injurious 
one ; and if mourning garments contribute in any degree to prolong 
the tender impression, we should be ^villing that even the poor 
should make considerable sacrifices to procure them. We should 
be still better pleased to see the rich provide them for their poor 
neighbors, making their own a little less costly, if necessarj'^, in order 
to gratify this natural feeling. Nothing valuable is gained by dead- 
ening the sensibilities, yet it would seem to be the error of some 
very good people to imagine that those in whom they take an inte- 
rest, are never quite in the right way until they subside into mere 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. 69 



machines. The sacrifices which are made to procure something 
much desired, are in themselves not without good effect ; and when 
that something is far removed from any gross or frivolous pleasure, 
the very effort is enobhng in a gi-eater or less degree. 

The practice of wearing some outward sign of mourning upon 
the death of a relative is, we believe, as universal as sorrow itself. 
It would seem to be a dictate of nature to signahze the departure 
of a human soul from this busy scene of hopes and fears, by a 
change in the outward appearance of those who survive. Philoso- 
phy may teach that 

The golden sun, 

The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 

Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 

Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 

The globe are but a handful to the tribes 

That slumber in its bosom : 

and that it is therefore absurd to bewail the adding of a unit to the 
untold milUons gone before. Rehgion may assure us, that in spite 
of the dread outward change, and the removal of the earthly taber- 
nacle from our sight forever, the freed soul knows no interruption to 
its life, but rejoices in continuous and unbroken existence, endowed 
with powers unknown before, and new capacities for the comprehen- 
sion of eternal truth. Yet death is awful to all, and the veriest 
savages make its occurrence the occasion of solemn rites and personal 
humiliation. Let us beware then how we interfere to counteract an 
obvious dictate of nature. 

There seems a peculiar fitness in black as the color of mourning 
— so much so, that it seems a little remarkable that various coloi-s 
should have been chosen by different nations for this purpose. The 
hue which absorbs and hides all the rays that brighten the face of 
creation, typifies well the chastened state of mind in which one idea 



10 THE EVENING BOOK. 



is of power sufficient to drink up, as it were, all the rest ; so that 
thoughts which are the source of comfort at other times, are either 
indifferent or absolutely displeasing. Black is the color of the cloud 
that hides the sun — of the gloomy cave — the shaded pool — ^the 
cheerless midnight of the lonely watcher. It is the hue of decayed 
natm-e — the image of the hteral shadow which seems to rest upon 
all outward objects when the dehght of our eyes is removed at a 
stroke. The black veil of the mourner enables her to weep unob- 
served — no trifling boon, when even the most trivial occurrence or 
ordinary object brings up the image of the loved and lost. 

The punctilio of mourning — on which we set but little value — is 
much more closely observed in Europe than in this country. There, 
no pereon thinks of going to a funeral in any but a black dress — those 
who are not in the habit of wearing it, keeping a suit for this purpose. 
Every scrap of paper, card, fan, watch-ribbon, must bear some sign 
of grief; and while etiquette is as closely consulted as ever, the 
whole aspect of the household is changed. Not only do those in 
mourning use black seals, but it is considered but polite for those 
unconnected to seal with black in return. Some of these petty 
observances are gaining ground among us, but we would not have 
om- observations respecting the uses of a mourning dress considered 
as including them. They have little to do with the real meaning of 
the custom. 

In one respect we would gladly see our young countrywomen take 
a lesson from the English, in the matter of mingling in the gayeties 
of the world, while still shrouded in the dress which tells of a lost 
friend. If we may beheve Pope, the ladies of his time were some- 
times known 

To bear about the mockery of wo, 

To midnight dances and the public show ; 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. 71 



but a purer taste now prevails. Among us the anomaly is but too 
common. We have seen even a widow, in all the excitement of a 
dance, with a scarf of black crape floating behind her, and her black 
dress looking like an ominous cloud in the midst of gauze and roses. 
But we would hope such sights are rare. 

Almost all ornaments are out of place in mom-ning. Flounces and 
fui'belows are a miserable solecism, and black flowers an odious 
mockery. The moment we feel a desire for these things, we should 
honestly throw aside the semblance of wo, and confess that w^e are 
quite ready for the world again. Perhaps one of the objections to 
mourning is, that it gives occasion to no little hypocrisy of this sort. 

The practice of wearing mourning is one in which all the 
world has seemed, until now, to be of one mind. The savage weai-s 
knife-cuts, the Jew, a beard — the Oriental ashes — the Anglo-Saxon, 
bombazine and weepers — and so on, through a strange variety, 
among which must be counted the flame-robe of the Hindoo widow, 
probably in many cases no whit more truly significant than the less 
costly one of her white sister. An impulse thus universal must 
needs be referred to no manufactured sentiment. In spite of the 
Quaker and the rationalist — who find reasons quite conclusive, on 
their principles, against the practice — we must consider the impulse 
to put on a gai'b significant of gi*ief, as a perfectly natural one. The 
immediate presence of sorrow is absorbing and exclusive. Even the 
afiection of survivors is of httle value to us while bereavement is 
fresh. The mind, insanely devoted to one topic, can entertain other 
thoughts only as they point to that. It would have the world and 
its concerns at a stand, that nothing may hinder the indulgence and 
fostering of its misery. Society is nothing to it — the customs of 
life are empty or hksome — the li\'ing are ^^llgar — only the dead 
precious and subhme. It is in this mood that mourning weeds 



72 THE EVENING BOOK. 



originate — this is the theory of them. Practically — and here arise 
the objections to them — they are quite another thing. 

The peculiar dignity of grief is that it brings the sufterer into 
immediate contact with the suj^ernatural world. N^o matter how 
hard or how world-spoiled the heart — no matter how vitiated the 
imagination or the habits — when one that we love with our strong, 
human, instinctive love, is stricken down before our eyes, we see the 
Hand that deals the blow, and the occasion at once rises to the 
grandeur of a divine -snsitation. To cherish sorrow becomes on this 
account honorable; it individuaHzes us, and raises us above the 
common, careless herd ; we have had direct communication with 
the mysterious Unknown; we have a right to be distinguished. 
But this, being a passionate state, does not naturally endure. The 
present resumes its hold upon us, and we feel that we are falling 
into the hue again, not wilhngly, but by an irresistible powei- — that 
of habit. Mourning garments do something towards arresting this 
tendency ; they at least serve to remind oureelves and those about 
us that we have been among high thoughts — that we have had 
heart experiences which in some degree revealed us to ourselves, 
and so raised us for the time, above demeaning daily influences. 

This being the signification of grief and its symbols, counterfeits 
become inevitable. While there is nothing which people repel 
more indignantly than the imputation of insensibility under bereave- 
ment, it must be that mourning is often worn as a mere form. 
Instead of being a voluntary putting away of the vanity of dress — 
a purposed disfiguring of ourselves to the living, out of devotion to 
the idea of the dead — it becomes as finical and ostentatious as a 
coronation robe, and sits as incongruously on the weaier. Whether 
we ought, for the sake of such instances, to condemn the wearing of 
mourning altogether, may still be a question. In discussing the 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DRESS. 73 



significance of dress, we touch its morals only incidentally, roser\'- 
ing what, we may have to say on that topic, for another occasion. 

The array of the body for the grave — everywhere a point of 
sacred interest — has a meaning, of course, though at our stage of 
civilization it is not always an ob\ious one. In countries more 
under tlie acknowledged influence of primitive ideas than our own, 
there are various picturesque and beautiful decorations of the lifeless 
form, as flowers, ribbands, and even robes of ceremony. There is an 
attempt to throw something like illusion over Avhat is in itself revolt- 
ing — to withstand the death-chill as long as possible by suggestions 
of life's sunshine. This attempt marks timid, poetical, and sensitive 
races ; to our sturdiness there is a sort of savage pleasure in facing 
death in all his horj-ible distinctness. We banish whatever looks 
like the garb of living men. We choose forms and tints that insure 1 
a cadaverous aspect to the dead, and make him as unlike the ' 
breathing, hopeful yesterday as possible. It would seem almost 
sacrilegious to us to lay him in the earth ' in his habit as he lived ;' 
to dress him in rich robes, as for solemn audience, would be so revolt- 
ing that we could hardly expect fi'iends to be found adventurous 
enough to countenance the last rites. Yet w^hy should this be so ? 
Why should we put weapons into the hand of death, wherewith to 
pierce our own souls, and help the grave to its too easy victory over 
the imagination ? Why not consent to greater simphcity of recep- 
tion of the last enemy ? To figure death as a grinning skeleton has 
not the moral effect w^e think it has ; it is only a confession of weak- 
ness. The poetical image of a beautiful female folding a sleeping 
infant to her bosom, and bearing it softly aw^ay, amid the hush of 
night, to the distant spheres, inspires loftier and more dutiful 
thoughts of the change decreed alike to all, and necessarily benefi- 
cent. 

4 



74 THE EVEMNG BOOK. 



AVe have hardly done more in this paper than express our 
opinion that the expression of our dress is nearly as characteristic as 
that of our faces ; but if we have put our readers upon thinking the 
matter out for themselves, we shall be content. We would fain 
redeem them from the tyranny of French prints, which, made for 
sale, and not faithful transcripts of the graceful and artistically 
chaste costume of the Parisian elegante^ have done much to intro- 
duce a gaudy and vicious style among us — a style which, in very 
many cases, would not bear interpreting on the principles here 
advanced. 



Note. In treating of the significance of dress, we might be expected to say 
something of the so-called ' Bloomer' costume, which has excited a good 
deal of notice lately, and brought out many opinions pro and con. As to 
the propriety of this dress, we never entertained any doubt ; as to its grace 
and beauty, we remain as yet unconvinced. We look upon it as entirely 
modest, and not unfeminine, our prejudices in favor of more flowing drapery 
to the contrary notwithstanding; but to cut the figure by a short skirt, is 
contrary to all rules of art where dignity is to be expressed. Youthful 
lightness and agility are well typified in this way ; and accordingly, no one 
objects to the ' robe succinct' for our half-grown daughters. But when the 
matron assumes a costume of similar character, we consider her as sacrific- 
ing beauty to utility — very commendable sometimes, but not necessary 
always. The reformers in dress fall into an error common with reformers 
—of claiming too much for their plan. It is well to recommend a conveni- 
ent dress for its merits, but it is not well to attempt to show that all other 
dresses are absurd. The prettiest name yet devised for the new costume is 
the ' Camilla.' For, 

' Svrift Camilla scours the plain, 
"Flies o'er tli' unbending corn and skims along the main ;' 

and as the dress is especially advocated on account of allowing the free use 
of the limbs, this classical designation is peculiarly appropriate. 



CONVERSATION. 

Our best gifts are least praised, perhaps least prized. Whatever 
outward good entei*s into the very texture of our life's life, has httle 
chance of being duly honored. Those pleasures, without which we 
should be wi'etched, we treat as insignificant, because they are indis- 
pensable. It is so with conversation, a pleasure for which all men 
have a taste ; one which is never relinquished except by compulsion, 
or some motive almost as potent. Says Emerson, ' Good as is 
discoui-se, silence is better and shames it ;' but the world is far from 
understanding, or at least adopting this philosophy. The silence of 
monastic hfe is the highest triumph of asceticism ; that of prison 
existence the utmost cruelty of the law. The sage loves conversa- 
tion better than the child, for the very desire of acquiring makes 
him anxious to impart. Joy prattles ; grief must talk or die ; both 
are eloquent, for passion is always so. A feeling too strong for 
words is agony ; if they be long withheld, it becomes madness. 
The chatteiing of youth is the overflow of animal spirits by the 
stimulus of new ideas ; the garrulity of age seems an effort to excite 
the fainting animal spirits, by recalling the ideas which once stimu- 
lated them. Letter-writing is an effort at conversation ; so indeed 
is essay-writing. Let us then have a talk about talking-. Our 



76 THE EVENING BOOK. 



object shall be to show that we do not give it a due share of atten- 
tion, or at least to inquire whether we do or not. 
I Goethe advises that we shall at least ' speak every day a few good 
words.' Do we concern ourselves about this when we are making 
up the day's account ? Did we begin the day with any resolves 
about it, as if it were a thing of consequence, or have we maundered 
on, dropping tinkhng words about trifles, or evil words like fire- 
brands, or words of gloom and repining, insulting Providence, or 
words of hatred, piercing hearts that love us ? Each day's talk is 
surely no trifle ; we can hardly help sowing the germs of many 
thoughts in a twelve hours' intercourse with our co-mates, in the 
ordinary duties of life ; and allowing our words only a negative 
value, we rob our friends of ail the good and pleasure that we might 
bestow and do not. Young and old alike have claims upon us for 
the cheap gift of our good thoughts ; the young, because it is their 
spring-time, and they must have good thoughts or bad ones, flowers 
or weeds ; the old, for that life's troubles have cast so many shadows 
upon their minds, that it is cruel to let shp any chance of cheering 
them by means of whatever advantage we possess. If they despond 
habitually, a few rightly chosen words may present a new side of 
affairs for their relief ; if they are soured, words of affection are all- 
powerful to neutralize such acids. Let us not dare to put them off" 
with silence ; in such a case it is a confession of the weakness of our 
virtue. Incommunicative households are only a step behind quarrel- 
ing households. Some people are taciturn only because they cannot 
open their mouths without saying something disagreeable. Tliey have 
just goodness enough to be silent, not enough to reform the inward 
suUenncss of their temper. 

There are those who have never even entertained the idea that 
under certain circumstances it may become a duty to talk. They 



CONVERSATION. ^>J 



talk when they like, and when not moved by inclination they sit 
mum, leaving the trouble to others. That it is sometimes a trouble 
to talk is very true ; the French have a proverbial saying which 
expresses this ; they say of a talker, that he ' bore the expense' 
of the conversation. It is true too, that we feel as if we made a 
stupid figure in making an effort to talk. This is what the mum 
people of whom we are speaking think, and pride and selfishness 
prompt them to leave the disagi-eeable to others. O the misery of 
being obliged to ask one of these spirits to ' spend the day ;' that 
trial of the soul to both hostess and guest ! There is no use in 
offering books to such visiter ; if reading were their habitual amuse- 
ment, they would have some ideas. An Annual might do indeed ; 
but the best resource is usually some new pattern in worsteds or 
crochet, and, if this does not do, to follow ]\Iiss Patty Proud's exam- 
ple — take the lady up stairs, and show her your finery. We are 
speaking of course of feminine bores, for happily gentlemen are never 
asked to spend the day ; and if they were, they would probably 
soon get sound asleep upon the sofa. When you in despair pro- 
pose a nap to your silent lady-friend, she is sure to tell you that she 
cannot sleep in the day-time ; it is evidently her forte to be the 
cause of sleep in others. 

Two young girls together are said to be Hke the side-bones of a 
chicken, " because they always have a merry-thought between them." 
And tmly the giggling which generally ensues when a few young ladies 
get together would seem to justify the old riddle. It is hard to say 
whether what is said on these occasions is conversation or not. To 
settle the point it would be necessary to go into an analysis of their 
talk, which were foreign to our present purpose, as well as difficult 
for want of material, since no one has ever reported what is said 
under cover of so much laugh. To count the bubbles on the surface 



78 THE EVENING BOOK. 



of boiling water beneath a cloud of steam, were perhaps as easy, and 
as useful. But every age has its pleasures, and we must not quarrel 
with this. Sober days do not await our bidding. 

Ball-room talk is equally beyond our pale. Its ineffable nothing- 
ness defies us. Fortunately conversation is not the characteristic 
pleasm^e of the ball-room. The West Indian lady undei-stood this, 
who exclaimed impatiently to a friend of ours who had wearied her 
with trying to find a subject on which she would open her lips — 
" Cha, cha ! I no come here for chatter, I come here for dance !" 
Happy were it if her notion were generally adopted. The harp and 
viohn discoui-se more excellent music than can be expected from 
unhappy beaux, who, not very well furnished with ideas at the out- 
set, must belabor theh beseeching brains for something to say to ten 
young ladies in succession, all of different disposition, character, and 
education, and probably no better fitted for extempore conversation 
than their partners. The swain too often takes refuge in a silly 
strain of comphment, which makes the lady feel silly and look silly ; 
and which, if she be silly enough to beheve it sincere, may, to say 
the least, not add to her wisdom. What a pervemon, to call this 
conversation, where no one word on either side is the sincere expres- 
sion of the inward thought ! 

The duhiess of our social visits is one of the commonest subjects 
of complaint. It is an evil not only recognised but guarded against, 
indirectly ; for we often see a good deal of ingenuity exerted to elude 
an invitation without absolute falsehood or the certainty of giving 
offence. Unless some special inducement is offered, people feel that 
they will have a far better chance for enjoyment at home, with their 
ordinaiy pursuits, or among their books, than in a talking circle, who 
will hardly, by any chniice, say a word that will either please or 
instruct. Dulness becomes thus a formidable ally of dissipation ; the 



CONVERSATION. *J9 



votaries of vicious pleasure point with scorn at our stupid circles and 
affected coteries. " If your boasted morality," say they, " can afford 
nothing better than this, in the way of social enjoyment, you must 
excuse us if we prefer a mode of life which affords pleasure, at least. 
K excess is the bane of ours, inanity and hoUowness are no less the 
reproach of youi-s." Can we reply to this taunt by an appeal to 
matters of fact ? Can wo silence the scorner of our boasted sobriety 
by assuring him that we enjoy the social intercourse he condemns ? 
Can we quote in refutation of his opinion passages of value from last 
evening's convei-sation, or declare that our feelings of general benevo- 
lence and charity are kept waiTa by our social habits ? 

We are always sensible of the pleasure of conversation when it is 
what it should be ; but we do not find it easy to prescribe rules for it. 
There are, indeed, plenty of formal rules, but they are too formal. 
"We do not find that agreeable people talk by them, and we say such 
an one has a gift for conversation, as if confessing that rules have 
Httle to do with the matter. And indeed, how could we talk by 
rule any more than we can breathe by rule ? We never think of 
counting or measuring the delicious inhalations of a rm-al walk, or 
those which sustain the life of a year. Talking is quite as natural 
and almost as necessary as breathing, for the few taciturn people we 
meet ai-e only enough to prove the univei"sahty of the impulse. Of 
coui'se we put out of the question those who are silent through sul- 
kiness or stupidity, or by design, and consider only people who 
behave naturally. The deaf-mute, unprovided by nature with the 
facility for it enjoyed by others, show by their strenuous efforts to 
find a substitute, how dearly they prize the power of communicating 
their sentiments to those about them. Even Lam'a Bridgman, says 
Dr. Howe, to show the strength of the impulse to clothe our thoughts 
in words, ' often sohloquizes in the finger language, slow and tedious 



80 THE EVENING BOOK. 



as it is.' It is only we who have free use of the excellent gift of 
speech who treat it with neglect, not so much indeed by disuse, as 
by abuse. 

The impulse to impart our thoughts is so strong that it is pro- 
verbially necessary to keep a guard over our lips lest we tell what 
should not be told. To what a pitch then must our sophistication 
by false notions of society have arisen, when we become able to talk 
for hours the very thing we do not think, pouiing out empty words, 
while the under-current of om- thoughts set in a quite different direc- 
tion. The ' bald, disjointed chat ' thus produced, is what we call 
' conversation in company,' and no wonder we dread ' company !' 
A diet of stale crumbs and tepid water would be quite as agreeable. 
Listen to the convei-sation of a morning call. 

Fu'st the health branch. 

' How do you do — and how is your mother — and is your sister 
quite well — and has your aunt recovered V — an unexceptionable strain 
of talk in itself, but usually a mere form, from the fact that we have 
had daily opportunities of ascertaining the condition of these good 
people, and know that nothing of consequence can have befallen 
them without our knowledge. It wears the semblance of friendly 
feeling and human sympathy, however, so we must not condemn it 
when it includes one grain of sincerity. But we proceed. ' My own 

health has been misei-able. I have had ' And here follows a 

train of symptoms minutely given, even as to days and hours, with 
the fears of friends and the judgment of physicians, until the listener 
yawns so perceptibly that it is impossible to proceed. The children's 
cases come next, and it is well if their afflictions do not occupy the 
remainder of the visit. 

Next comes the weather branch, if there be time enough. 

* What dreadfid weather we have had ! It is enough to kill any 



CONVERSATION. 81 



body. The tliermometer fell ten degrees on Saturday. My brother, 
who has been all over the world, says that oui-s is the veiy woi-st 
cHmate on the face of the globe. Nobody can be well in such a 
climate," &c., until it is made perfectly clear that Providence, either 
through especial spite or general incapacity, is doing its worst for us 
in the way of weather. 

From this gracious topic we go perhaps to the last party. 

' Were you there ? Oh, certainly — don't you remember our talk- 
ing together for some time ? Did you ever see any one look so 

much hke a fright as Mi-s. A ? And what a fool Mr. G 

is ! Oh, I do think going to parties such a bore ! I never go when 

I can decently refuse, but I have dechned Mrs. B 's invitations 

so often that I thought I must go for once. The gentlemen have 
the best of it ; they are not obliged to appear before supper-time,' 
&c. &c. If there be any more time, dress fills it to overflowing. The 
fashions never fail to afford a multitude of remarks, criticisms, and 
ecstasies, very advantageous to the milliners, but tiresome enough in 
themselves to all but the initiated. 

It may be remarked that the subjects here adverted to make up 
the conversation of ladies only, but we were speaking of morning 
calls, which gentlemen never make. The gentlemen have one staple 
subject on all occasions — that of party politics ; and this their chosen 
theme doubtless appears to them far more dignified and worthy of 
attention than those which occupy the thoughts of women. 
Whether it be so in the mamier in which it is ordinarily handled, 
may admit of questions, but it is a question which we shall not 
presume to touch here. If there be anything which is held sacred 
in our country, it is the propensity of the men to talk politics. It is 
difficult to obtain belief for the truth that one rarely hears anything 
said of politics in good society abroad. " What other subjects can 



82 THE EVENING BOOK. 



men talk about ?" One would tliink there were no intermediate 
topics of interest between this most earthy one and the ' celestial 
colloquy sublime," once held in Paradise : but in considering 
what is or what is not the conversation which makes social gather- 
ing delightful, which wakes up the best powers of the mind, calls 
forth the half-formed thoughts that had else slumbered in a sort of 
chaos for w^ant of the vivifying influence, arouses all the most 
generous instincts of the heart, and furnishes the most soul-stirring 
pleasure that we are capable of enjoying — we cannot conscientiously 
assign to party politics a much more dignified place in our list of 
subjects than to the weather, or our bodily condition, though we 
confess it to rank above di-ess, which must be. allowed to be below 
everything else that it is permissible to talk of in society. 

The faults and foUies of our neighbors and friends afford, perhaps, 
the most fertile of all subjects for convei-sation, when it is at all 
spontaneous. The study of character is one of the pleasures of life, 
but we are not particularly fond of exercising it upon ourselves, or at 
least of divulging the results of our practice. As surgeons choose 
the lifeless body for their demonstrations, so we try our skill upon 
the absent, and, as he can neither resist nor reply, that is veiy 
pleasant and advantageous — to the operator, who, not being forced 
to defend his positions, may expatiate at will, and ha\ing set out with 
a general theory or proposition, may easily, by the aid of a httle 
imagination, make out a consistent view of the whole case. One 
inconvenience attending the use of this class of material for conver- 
sation, is the danger that the person dissected may not relish cm* 
view of his case as reported to him by some good-natured friend. His 
vanity may hinder his appreciating our discernment ; he may mistake 
for spite or envy or unkindhness the keen perception on which we 
pride ourselves ; he may not be able to consider himself as an ab- 



CONVERSATION. 83 



straction, in which light, of course, we considered him when we 
demonstrated upon him, and we may thus lose his friendship just as 
we flattered ourselves we understood him thoroughly. 

Then again the habit of discussing character in ordinary conver- 
sation is apt to be a little chilling, all round. It is hardly possible 
to feel quite at ease and to behave unconstrainedly, if we know that 
as soon as we depart we shall be coolly analyzed for the benefit of 
those who remain. We are not quite so confident of the impartiality 
and discernment of others as of our own, and we would rather not 
feel that every word and action of ours is being treasured up as 
material for future sketches of chai-acter. So that this style of con- 
versation, while it exercises the intellect, is likely to harden the heart, 
and instead of diffusing an affectionate confidence through social 
intercoui'se, will probably end in putting each individual secretly on 
the defensive. Some frigid soul devised the maxim, ' Live always 
with your friend as if he might one day be your enemy ;" and those 
must have kindred notions of the spirit of society, who consider the 
peculiai-ities and shades of character of their friends matter for habi- 
tual discussion. 

There is indeed one way of avoiding the obvious danger of this 
theme, — that of giving oftence to the absent, — namely, by making 
our discussion the vehicle of praise only. But is not this apt to be- 
come a little tiresome ? In some families most of the conversation 
with visiters — we can judge of nothing further — consists in eulogies 
upon absent members of the household or connexion. Unhappily 
there is hardly enough disinterested sympathy in human nature to 
make this agreeable to persons who have not the advantage of belong- 
ing to those exemplary races. The perfections of those we love are 
a most fascinating subject for private contemplation, but they are 
hai'dly the topic for entertaining our guests withal. Nor are the in- 



84 THE EVENING BOOK. 



di\iduals eulogized in all respects gainei-s by this enthusiastic enume- 
ration of their excellences. Being human, they have probably still 
some remains of human imperfection, and these will be very apt to 
come up in full size before the memory or imagination of the listener, 
who is driven to seek a refuge for his self-love from the painful con- 
trast suggested by so much virtue. On the whole then, we conclude 
that personal discussion, even in this honied phase, is not very ad- 
vantageous to the main end of conversation, as a sweetener of the 
soul and a cultivator of the social affections. 

Egotism may be reckoned a kindred vice of convei'sation, equally 
tiresome, but not so bad in itself, because it is truer. Egotism is 
either the pouring forth of a vanity too egregious to be politic ; or the 
effort of a desire to please to bring up its claims to notice ; or the 
mere morbid and painful action of an unhealthy mind, attempting 
to share its troubles and vexations with others, or to enforce the at- 
tention which such minds are apt to think wrongfully withheld. In 
either of these cases, tediousness is its worst effect. We fly au 
egotist, but we do not fear or hate him. If vanity prompt his fault, 
we smile secretly at the weakness ; if a desire to make an impression, 
w^e revenge ourselves on his tiresomeness by contrasting in our own 
minds his real with his ima^nary claims. It is of such as he that 
the common people say ' I would like to buy him at my price 
and sell him at his own,' and the saying arose from the fi*equency of 
the appearance of such characters in society. Our daily intercoui-se 
must be select mdeed if it include not more than one unwise talkor 
of this class. The ardor of our social competition brings them forth 
in Egyptian abundance, but as their numbers increase their object is 
more and more difficult of attainment ; since society is forced to in- 
vent expedients for avoiding them or cutting them short, while its 
appreciation of their claims is in inverse proportion to the pertinacity 



CONVERSATION. 85 



with which they are urged. Not that this form of egotism is always 
so obvious as to be offensive to the casual observer. It has a thou- 
sand degrees and disguises ; and in its more subtle and less suspected 
shape, enters more or less into conversation generally. One cannot 
analyze one's own talk very faithfully without perceiving traces of 
this tendency to self-recommendation. In that case we console our- 
selves by thinking either that we desire to be valued, in order that 
we may be in a position to do good to others, or that we seek merely 
to do ourselves justice in the eyes of those whose discernment is 
not keen enough to form a correct opinion of us for themselves ; or 
at least that to love to be loved is at any rate no very reprehensible 
source of action. Let us have candor and kindhness enough to 
make the same apologies for other people. 

A still less agreeable class of talkers are they who seem to listen 
for no other purpose than to entrap the speaker. They lie in wait 
for petty errors and apparent discrepancies ; things whose consistency 
might be \indicated after a w^oi'ld of words, but which we have a 
right to expect will be taken for granted as correct by those who 
know us to have a regard for truth. These are minute and matter- 
of fact people, in whose minds the main idea is of no more impor- 
tance than the most insignificant accessory. They would stop you 
in the midst of a recital of harrowing interest to say, ' But I thought 
you said it was /owr o'clock !' and if you should not stop and explain 
that although one portion of the occurrence took place at four 
o'clock, another was necessarily deferred until half-past four, would 
secretly result in the conviction that you w^ere a person who allowed 
the imagination full play at the expense of truth, or perhaps set you 
down an absolute story-steller. To talk with such people is subject- 
ing one's self to the labor of proving a continual negative. This 
ca\iling habit Is completly contradictory of the genial and confiding 



86 THE EVENING BOOK. 



spirit which is the hfe of conversation. It is insulting to the speaker, 
whose flow of talk returns indignantly upon himself, to await listen- 
ers who are too conscious of their own love of truth lightly to sus- 
pect another of disregarding it. It is found generally either among 
persons whose pursuits have led them into close investigation of 
minute points ; among hard and coarse business men or sharp law- 
yei*s ; among the self-righteous of either sex ; among people who 
being devoid of imagination, are habitually suspicious of those who 
appear to possess any ; and, finally, among those who, having very 
httle regard for truth, seek to bolster up a tottering reputation in 
this respect by unusual keenness in sifting the words of others. 
These last have naturally the advantage of all the rest, since there 
is no pocket so hard to pick as a pickpocket's. 

With these enemies of conversation we may rank such as frown 
upon every httle playful sally, snapping at each unconsidered word, 
and pretending to be puzzled by every witticism, in the spirit of him 
who asked, of a poem, ' What does it prove ? The truth is, folly is 
almost as requisite to pleasant general conversation as wisdom. 
Highly condensed ahment is healthful neither for mind nor body. 
As a little bran left in our bread makes it more wholesome, so does 
a little harmless folly in our talk. Those who despise it ai-e very 
apt to suffer and look glum under a mental dyspepsia, and they 
deserve it. Until philosophers become predominant in society, wis- 
dom will not be best commended to popularity by showng it as the 
antagonist of mirth ; and when they are so, they wiU show how 
cheerful wise men can be. Were our laughing muscles given us for 
nothing? When Solomon compared the laughter of fools to 'the 
crackling of thorns under a pot,' he was thinking of wicked fools, 
undoubtedly ; there are many such, and their laughter is anj'thing 
but cheerful, liut some gloomy people say, ' There is too much 



CONVERSATION. 87 



sin and soitow in the world for Christian people to be anything but 
sad.' To this we would assent with all our hearts, if habitual sad- 
ness were in itself likely to better the state of things. It is true 
that, by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better, 
viz., that unmingled prosperity and happiness is apt to make our 
poor humanity cold and unfeehng, leaving dormant those tender 
sympathies with all human woe, which any heart-touching sorrow is 
sure to awaken ; but if this be construed into a disparagement of 
innocent mirth at proper times, we must rebut it by another proverb 
of the same teacher of wisdom — ' A merry heart is a continual feast,' 
a feast, we ventm*e to add, quite as much to those about it as to 
itself. We have no patience with those who despise mirth as mirth ; 
who fix a cold glance upon the vivacious talker of pleasant nothings, 
as who should say, ' Behold a zany !' One might almost be tempted 
to remind these unhappy wise men that the most immovably grave 
of all creatures is the ass. The best wisdom is humane and humble, 
not stilted and self-glorifying. . We would not recommend to a man 
of sense to be ' the fiddle of the company,' but there is at least 
equal and less amiable folly in gathering one's self up solicitously, 
lest any one in the melee of conversation should tread upon the 
corns of our dignity. Wisdom that is rich and ample can afford 
some derogation. 

The French have furnished us — in return for the words Home, 
Comfort, and others expressive of simple, tender, and healthy ideas 
— with several words whose origin refers rather to the genius or 
spu'it of their own social hfe. Among these are Badinage and Per- 
siflage ; the former meaning simply hght, frivolous talk, the latter as 
much and more, viz : the trick of making another say that which 
renders liimself ridiculous. From the former is derived our word 
Banter, which Dr. Johnson calls ' a barbarous word, without ety- 



88 THE EVENING BOOK. 

mology,' unless it be so derived. Oui' word Raillery is defined as 
* satirical merriment,' and To Rally, as ' to treat with slight contempt.' 

There is not one of these words which, closely defined, conveys an 
agi'eeable idea ; yet they are the only words by which to express a 
certain style of conversation which seems to find favor with some 
people. It is sometimes called ' sharp shooting' — perhaps because it 
occasions wincing, if not wounds ; sometimes ' sparring,' a term 
which smacks of the noble science of which Hyer and Sullivan are 
the prominent professors just now. ' Sparring for love,' however, 
requires the gloves, but this is apt to be forgotten in conversational 
pugihstics. 

We have sometimes wished we could discover — perhaps by some 
Asmodean power of peering into the recesses of people's minds — 
how lai'ge a proportion of the world really relish this amusement. 
We speak not of those who have the advantage in the contest, for 
they seem to enjoy it ; but of the far greater class — those who simply 
suffer it, or who are induced to retort, in self-defence. There is 
seldom an equal match on these occasions ; and when it does happen, 
the game is up directly — showing pretty plainly what is at least one 
of the elements of the pleasure it gives. 

To express an opinion counter to this tone of conversation, is to 
subject one's self to a charge of moroseness, touchiness, or want of 
sympathy, so nearly has a habit of joking come to be confounded 
with cheerfulness and good humor. This suppositious character it 
owes to the fact that nobody hkes to own he is hit ; and thus pride 
prevents the party who secretly feels pei-sonal joking to be any thing 
but pleasant, from seeming to disapprove it. The victor, flushed 
with his little triumph, is quite sure of his own good humor, and so 
the thing goes on, unchallenged. 

We must not omit to say that it is the hahit of jesting, rather 



CONVERSATION. 89 



tlian the thing itself, that appears to us questionable on various 
accounts. Conversation would lose as much, if an occasional joke 
were made contraband, as it does by the ceaseless effort at sharp- 
shooting which sometimes spoils it. As well paralyze the laughing 
muscles at once, as forbid all use of them not justifiable by sober 
argument. On the other hand, as nothing makes a man seem so 
much hke a fool as to be always laughing, so nothing takes away so 
completely the zest of all jokes as a continual or sustained fire of 
them. In truth, a hearty relish for pleasantry is the very ground for 
a remonstrance ao;ainst beino; crammed with it. 

Equally does the power of enjoying wit find itself aggiieved by 
the amount of failures involved in a multitude of attempts. Where 
the desire of saying what are called " good" things is become 
chronic, these failures are usually at least as ten to one, while the 
tolerable hits are in general of a grade no higher than punning, or 
word-catching. Even in that fine they are mostly inferior to the 
manufactured jokes of the Sunday papers, and far below the smart 
things in Burton's play-bills. " Rien nefait dire — rien ne fait f aire, 
autant de sottises, que le desir de montrer de Vesprit,^'' says the 
Abbe Du Bois. "While an occasional scintillation, or, what is better, 
a subdued infusion of wit, enhvens the social circle, gives hfe to the 
heaviest subject, or may turn the edge of the most impracticable 
temper, the sole effect of habitual joking, even putting aside the 
pcrsonahty into which it almost always runs, is to lower the tone of 
conversation, and to throw away every advantage which belongs to 
cultivation, taste, information, and judgment. 

So completely is the ordinary play of this kind of smartness in- 
dependent of all cultivation and mental resources, that it seems 
strange it can possess any fascination for superior people. Yet men 
love contest, even where they are sure to come off losers — in cases 



90 THE EVENING BOOK. 



where victory is as bad as defeat ; and the keen sportsman will wade 
through mud and mire in pursuit of game so small that his shot will 
blow it to atoms. 

Thus far we have spoken of raillery as a matter of taste ; we must 
go a httle farther. 

Eaillery imphes personality, of course, and as such is certainly 
contrary to the canons of good society. But the canons of good 
society are intended as a substitute for the exercise of Christian love. 
We may ask, then, in pursuance of the subject under a more serious 
aspect, whether the habit of exercising our wit at the expense of 
others does not imply, when severely tested, a certain hardness, and 
lack of that tender sympathy which pervades a heart penetrated and 
subdued by religion ? Religion, it is true, asks no mawkish insipidity 
of talk, in which wit shall be forbidden, and humor disallowed, and 
folly unsatirized, and wi'ong undenounced. But it does demand the 
gTeatest and the minutest attention to the law of love ; a resolute 
forbearance of aught that can give an unnecessary pang, or even un- 
easiness, to any human creature. The old saying " He would rather 
lose his friend than his jest," recognizes the wounding power of 
raillery. It is true that " one ought to be able to take a joke," but 
it is equally true that the responsibihty of the case rests with the 
joker. It would perhaps be too severe to apply here the text which 
has sometimes been brought to our mind by things which we have 
heard said in conversation — " The fool scattereth about firebrands, 
arrows and death, and saith, am I not in sport ?" but since we know 
not where our neighbor's quivering nerve may lie — and still more if 
we do know — how shall we clear ourselves of the imputation of un- 
feehng vanity, if we exercise our wit at his cost ? Besides, as jests 
are notoriously used to cover up reproofs, how can any one be 
expected to know whether the " true word" lie at the bottom or not ? 



CONVERSATION. 91 



Tliis reminds us that some persons justify raillery on the ground 
that one can say things in jest that it would not do to say in earnest, 
so that one may wield a moral engine with the air of play. It cannot 
be denied that truths sometimes flash upon us amid the keen glanc- 
ings of our friend's wit, but is it commended to us, under such circum- 
stances ? We may use it, but are we made better by it ? The 
quahties which fit a man for telUng unwelcome truths are, first, a deep 
sense of duty, secondly, the truest love and sympathy, and thirdly, 
the tender and watchful delicacy which these inspire. When we 
feel disposed to tell a friend trying truths without these prepara- 
tives, we may be pretty sure that we are not in a condition to do him 
good. How many a friendship is cooled, how many an enmity 
nourished, by mistakes on this point, none but the Searcher of hearts 
can know, for pride forbids all confession of this description of 
wounds. 

The simple truth, too — that precious jewel of all conversation — ^is 
often the sacrifice of this keen encounter of wits. Many an apology, 
many a retraction, testifies to this. Rather than miss the opportunity 
of the sharp repartee, we go on to say what we never thought, and, 
induced by pride, maintain the wrong, till we surprise others into 
expressions equally unjustifiable. Truth is hard to manage, after we 
are once fairly ^vithin the gale of raillery. 

We are far from believing that a shade of malicious intention be- 
longs to badinage, as ordinarily practised. It suggests itself as the 
most innocent thing in the world, and only shows its real nature in 
certain emergencies. Children often play at tapping one another — 
love-taps, we call them — in great good humor, which lasts until one 
unlucky tap smarts a little. The return to this is a little harder, 
and — cveiy parent can finish the story. This is precisely the course 
with h;iir the r;ii]l.:'ry of conversation. It begins in sport and ends in 



92 - THE EVENING BOOK. 



earnest, and the observer sometimes suffers quite as much mieasiness 
as the woi-sted party. This as sport is about as rational and pleasant 
as it would be to play at pulling hau' — beginning mth single hairs, 
producing rather an agreeable titillation — and ending in whole hand- 
fulls. 

Those who insist that to proscribe raillery is to legislate against fun 
betray a sad paucity of resource. Surely the wide range of subjects 
of harmless drollery will suffice, without calhng in the aid of person- 
ality. Even if satire be essential, folly is multiform ; anomalies — 
laughable blunders, matter of every day observation. But above 
all, there is the boundless field of hterary allusion, to give elegance 
to wit and dehcacy to satire, Convereation need never resort to 
bitterness for the sake of piquancy, while such materials exist that 
only the unfurnished mind can lack opportunity to be innocently 
brilliant. Indeed a recourse to what is not innocent is a confession 
of poverty. 

When we consider the immense usefulness, as well as the inex- 
haustible pleasure of convei-sation, perhaps the most serious objec- 
tion to a habit of badinage hes in its tendency to lower the 
conversational tone and to deprive our talk of any possibility of 
seriousness. Who has not felt the vexation of an interloping joke, 
which sent all soHd and sweet thoughts flying at once, and substituted 
in their place a forced brood of puns, literally " tedious as a twice- 
told tale,' since a new one has hardly been heard since Hook's and 
Hood's days ! Shakspeare knew the feehng right well, and 
expresed it roundly — ' Answer not to me with a fool-born jest !' 
though, like other sinners, he knew the right in this respect better 
than he did it. Who has courage to attempt the starting of a 
serious thought after ?ifeu d' artifice of popping wit ? or if one had 
courage, who has the power ? Tone is everj- thing in convei-sation ; 



CONVERSATION. 93 



what right has any one to fix this, and overpower all choice in 
others ? 

There is talk which sweetens the soul ; there are conversations 
which leave an odor in the memory as if an angel had been there. 
Truths are elicited in the free and quiet interchange of thought, 
which we would not part with for all the small wit ever struck out 
of mercurial brains. The pleasure of conversation is one which 
belongs to all chcumstances, and lasts when all other pleasures have 
lost their zest. It seems to us a thing too sacred to be wantonly 
spoiled. Nobody loves ' foolish talking and jesting' when his heart 
is in its best state ; the hadin — the persijleur^ who puts snuff into our 
dish of chat, or sets aU our moral teeth on edge with his saw-filing 
smartness, is the last man to relish such things when he himself is 
in another humor. He takes the hberty of breaking the chain of 
your ideas, but he allows you no corresponding license. He is both 
ways imperious. 

Touchy people are to be dreaded in conversation. Their propen- 
sity is to find out, in the discom-se of those about them, points of 
oflfence wholly impalpable to all but themselves, by a power like 
that of the magnet, which will cover itself with particles of steel 
where no other affinity could detect their presence. Woe to the 
good-natured, unsuspicious sayer of nothings, in such company ! It 
will be hard to convince him that terrible insinuations have been 
discovered by unwi-apping his gentlest meanings. Does he speak 
of somebody's kindness to the poor? Mra. Sensitive is suddenly 
beclouded, for she remembers (what he does not) that she has 
just been inveighing against indiscriminate charity. Does he wish 
for rain ? It is because he knows Mrs. Sensitive is depending upon 
fair weather for a party of pleasure. Does he express indignation 
at some instance of dishonesty ? Why need he go out o^ 1 j"s way 



94 THE EVENING BOOK. 



to bring to mind the defalcation of Mrs. Sensitive's cousin twenty 
years ago ? [f lie venture upon any subject of interest, he is sure 
to touch upon a tender spot ; if he carefully adhere to generalities, 
he is reser\ing his better things until he has more agreeable society. 
It is astonishing to hear with what bitterness some people will dwell 
upon these constructive oflfences — crimes made by the law as it 
were. A disposition of this sort is a fatal bar to the flow of conver- 
sation. Our ordinary ideas vdll not endui-e such sifting and weigh- 
ing. By the time we have turned a thought round and round, to 
be sure that it has no ridge or corner of offence, whatever point it had 
is sure to have been worn off. We must leave the touchy pei-son 
out of our select conversational circle, and we do it with the less regret, 
because he is almost sure to be found deficient in other requisites for 
companionship besides good-humor. Intelligence, cultivation, and 
acquaintance with society are sure antidotes of touchiness, which is 
only one phase of egotism. 

An overbearing manner is hard to describe, yet it is one 
of the most intolerable in society, and so common a one that we 
learn almost to dread meeting a pereon of any pretension, until we 
have ascertained whether he is in the habit of allowing anybody to 
have an opinion besides himself — that is to say, whether he is a 
quack or a savant^ for thoroughness is always modest. Overbearing 
people are often unobserving enough to be gratified at the silence 
in which, after a few efforts, we listen to their convei-sation ; but if 
vanity and insolence did not blind them, they would perceive that 
the fool who wallvs through a garden, cutting off flowers with a 
switch, that were far better apphed to his own shouldei*s, has exactly 
the same reason to be proud. Conscious merit will not condescend 
to struggle against this species of arrogance ; it rather waits quietly 
until the nuisance be overpast. 



CONVERSATION 95 



Your incessant talker is a migratory lieadaclie, |)ossessiiig few 
claims to our regard, unless it be as the discoverer of perpetual 
#iotion. There is somewhere in his mind an in\dsihle and endless 
thread, about which all sorts of subjects crystalize — facts, theories, 
opinions ; sentiments, prognostics, and fancies — without the slightest 
arrangement that the hearer can discover ; yet, possessing as a whole 
so wonderful a continuity, that although it might break in any given 
spot just as well as in any other, it is impossible to break it any- 
where without force. Sometimes the thread may be loaded olfty 
with " an infinite deal of nothing," but we often find it rich with gems 
of all hues, but so ill-assorted, so tastelessly huddled together, and 
so rapidly flashed before our eyes, that we have no leism-e to admire 
or discriminate, and experience fatigue instead of delight. These are 
the most provoking talkers in the world. They make us hate what 
we love, and run away from what ought to dehght us. The intellect 
might bear the flood, but the nerves sink under it. The incessant 
talker is in fact a mere talking machine, for if he had the tact, and 
sympathy, and spiritual discernment that belongs to enhghtened 
humanity, he could not but perceive the weariness of his hearers. 
And his foible is not usually nothing more than an incontinence of 
words ; it is more frequently an efiect of self-conceit. He has a 
secret opinion, not only that he has matter of more interest to com- 
municate, but that he can impart it better than anybody else, and 
he never suspects why his audience di'op away as fast as they can. 
The more we love conversation, the sooner we tire of an unmerciful 
talker ; for he would substitute monologue, dramatic — it may be, 
or instructive, but still monologue — for the free exchange of 
thought. 

These remarks apply only to the habitual talker — him who talks 
only for his own pleasure, and not that of the company. There 



96 THE EVENING BOOK. 



are people — though we do not often meet with them — ^m whose 
presence we are involuntarily hushed, because we fear to lose a 
word. These are not the men to overwhelm us unawares. Th^ 
flood gates of their minds ask some trouble in lifting, but fall back 
easily into their place. Their discom*se is only a better kind of con- 
versation, suggesting in the listeners' minds thoughts that bud, 
blossom, and bear fi'uit in silence ; thoughts for which om* common 
words would be but lumbering vehicles. The vanity must be resist- 
less indeed that finds such listening tiresome. 

Blessing and bane are so closely coupled in all matters pertaining 
to the good things of life, that we need not wonder that many ills 
flow out of every abuse of the great gift of speech. Talk is sponta- 
neous as breathing, as we have said, but it is far from being always 
as inofiensive. White-handed Brinvilhers poisoned a few people 
who were soon out of their misery, and she has been for ages held 
up to execration. Have we never seen a woman who has poisoned 
twice as many, for life and death, and who yet passes for a good 
sort of person ? ' apt to speak her mind, but meaning no harm,' — 
with so httle appearance of premeditation or evil intent do her 
cruellest stabs come. She does but report what she has heard — or 
she had it from good authority — or she did not say more than 
other said ! In the course of a morning visit she will skewer you 
a whole street of her ' friends' like a lunch of kibaubs, and aU 
peppered for the most fastidious palate. And it must not be thought 
that women are the only sinners in this regard. There are men, 
too, who, without the excuse of vacuity or idleness, take a dreadful 
pleasure in stripping from their compeers the garb in which they 
appear to the world, and this under a pretence of love of truth and 
justice ! These disinterested champions of truth and justice are the 
last men to lay bare their own conscious secret feuUs to the public 



CONVERSATION. 9V 



eye for the public good. Let us pray that the thmg upon which we 
value ourselves most may never be mentioned in their hearing ! Be 
it wit or wealth, beauty or good humor, humanity, steadfastness, 
sincerity, or dehcacy ; pre-eminence in fashion or in learning, suc- 
cess in literatm'e, patience in sorrow, honest effort in adversity, or 
what not — though it be the immediate jewel of our souls, no card- 
house was ever demolished with greater coolness than will this 
favorite wing or turret of our character be by the cool breath of the 
habitual detractor. He ' speaks daggei-s, and every word stabs.' 

But our present purpose is to deal rather with the aesthetics of this 
subject. To treat adequately the morals of conversation would 
require more space than we can give to the present paper. Its 
importance as a moral engine can hardly be overrated, while it may 
be, and too often is, a caterer for the seven deadly sins. Let those 
who are disposed to think conversation a matter of indifference, go 
carefully through the Book of Proverbs alone, and see what place 
the wise king assigns to it among the elements of social life, morals, 
and rehgion. Good words, evil words, many words, few words, 
words of cheer, of contention, of anger, of boasting, of deceit, of 
impiety — these form almost the burden of his song. ' A wholesome 
tono-ue is a tree of life !' What lano-uasre can be strono;er ? What 
more encouraging to boldness of speech in the cause of goodness ? 
And the denunciations of those who dare profane the sacred gift are 
equally powerful. 

Among the minor morals of conversation we must not omit to 
notice that much talking in mixed company is seldom safe. We 
mean that excited strain of talking in which some people indulge, 
without much reflection or any decided intention for good or ill. 
The judgment is too often asleep at such times ; we say things 
under excitement which we would gladly disclaim afterwards, 



98 THE EVENING BOOK. 



but througli shame of inconsistency ; for excitement gives things an 
aspect foreign to reality, and while we are under its influence, we 
are very liable to be mistaken in our company, and so commit 
imprudences for which we suffer more severely than we deserve. 
Vanity, too, takes advantage of these overflowing moments to 
make us ridiculous. Mankind must become kinder and more 
candidly indulgent before it will be safe to talk much in mixed 
company, where humors and biases differ as much as complexions. 

Idle people will hardly ever be found to converse tolerably. 
They have no ' hived honey of the soul' to bring out for the com- 
mon good. Give us rather ' men of one idea,' though we confess 
them to be often tiresome. They at least say something^ which idlers 
seldom do. Earnestness may not always be graceful, but it is inspir- 
mg. Putting aside all charlatanry, the man whose whole soul is 
in his subject will interest if he cannot convince us. Faith is more 
potent than savoir faire. In conversation as in the pulpit, the man 
who softly utters sleek and j^erfumed nothings would be gladly 
exchanged, by all healthy-minded listeners, for a backwoodsman 
without a coat, who has something to say and says it boldly. 
Jemmy Jessamys are out of fashion, in every department. 

How rich is the discourse of those who, after having taken an 
active share in life, are inspired by sympathy and love to give forth 
the result of store and fusion ! We linger over their words as over 
precious wine, or as before the gorgeous pomp of sunset, when 
though masses of cloud be gathering, they have a given glory from 
above, all the grander for the coming darkness. How we thank 
them in our inmost souls for their wisdom, which we feel to have 
been gathered ' through much tribulation.' They have lived for us, 
not for themselves ; they are giving us gratuitously what cost them — 
life ! We do well to prize their great and good words, — heart- 



CONVERSATION. 99 



di'ops they are if rightly valued ; to carry our children to hear 
them, that they may leai-n to aspire to old age and not dread it. 
The extinguished torch in the hand of weeping love is indeed fitting 
emblem for the tombs of such ! 

Travellei*s 7)iay be good talkere, if they have carried with them 
or brought home a genial philosophy, and tact enough to know 
when particulars become tedious. But the satues called forth by 
ti'avelled pai-rots — 

The proud, conceited, talking spark 
Returning from his finished tour. 
Grown ten times perter than before, 

as the old fable has it, have almost silenced travellers of every 
degree. It is a point of pride, now, for those who have landed on 
every shore and weathered every chmate, to be conspicuously taci- 
turn : ' nobody's a bit the wiser' for all their journeyings. This is 
a sort of fraud, doubtless. We have a right to expect that those 
who have seen what we shall never see will give us of their abun- 
dance, without asking pride's leave on all occasions. Unfortunately 
the knowledge of human natm-e acquhed in travel leads us to be 
very careful how we seem to fancy we can instruct, or even that we 
possess any peculiar material for conversation. In order to talk 
agreeably, it is necessary firet that we should acquire knowledge, 
secondly, that we should carefully conceal it — i. e., give only the 
results of it. There must be economy in the dispensation of our 
best thing's. 

A habit of studying character and of classifying the specimens 
we encounter, affords a good foundation for conversation. It is on 
this acc^mt that clergymen are generally good talkei-s, perhaps in 
general the best, at least in this country. They have commonly a 



100 THE EVENING BOOK 



certain tranquillity of manner, which is, in our judgment, one of the 
essentials of an agreeable style of convei-sation ; they pass a good 
deal of time in private study, and ai-e usually conversant with 
literary subjects to a certain extent ; their professional avocations 
lead their thoughts among high things ; and still more, as we have 
said, the necessity for studying human life and character, fits them 
in a peculiar degree for the quiet exercise of those faculties which 
must act freely when we talk well. There must be patience for 
pauses as well as fervor in speech ; self-control under opposition as 
well as earnestness in advocacy ; indulgence for ignorance, indulgence 
even for stohdity. And in this enumeration we are still adhering 
to the aesthetics of the subject, for mere good breeding requires all 
these. The best discourse (as to substance) is nuUified or worse, if 
all that goes to make up that undefinable, comprehensive, lovely, 
indefinite word, good-humor, be not present. 

The mention of a knowledge of human nature, as a requisite for 
conversational power, might suggest the fitness of the law as a 
school for talkers, but the very accuracy which ought to be an advan- 
tage, is sometimes found inconvenient. The oflf-hand expression of 
sentiment must necessarily be partial and imperfect. "What we say 
on the spur of the moment must be received in the spirit rather 
than in the letter, and a habit of cross-examining or sifting, of spe- 
cial pleading, or even of sarcastic comment, is anything but favora- 
ble to the tone of equal conversation. Freedom of expression, 
without which convei-sation becomes unwoi-thy of its name, soon 
leads to recrimination, unless a generous toleration give it room and 
kindly atmosphere. Opposition gives life, for there is something in 
perpetual assent that soon wearies us ; yet the spirit arising from 
the support of opposing sentiments must not betray us into acridity 
or personality, as it is too apt to do. If our arrows be feathered 



CONVERSATION. loi 



with wit they must be tipped with love, or at least benevolence. If 
argument gi'ow strenuous it must all the more be guarded against 
venom, or we offend against all the social amenities. 

Our appreciation of the pleasm-e of conversation is so high ; it 
forms so important an item in om* list of the most desirable plea- 
sm-es of life ; we are so impressed with its momentous value as a 
moral engine, and so grieved to see it profaned every day by empti- 
ness, ignorance, and ill-nature, that we could find it in our hearts to 
bestow all our tediousness upon om' readers on this theme. But if 
we should say much more, we should be transgressing one of our own 
rules of talk, viz., that patience for pauses is as necessary as fervor 
of speech. 



WHAT SHALL WE BE ? 



It has been said, even by some of our friends, that we, as a 
nation, have no manners of our own ; and again, that the manners 
of the roughest among our western settlers ai'e the only natural and 
simply expressive ones as yet developed among us. Those who 
would disparage us and our repubhcan theory and practice, insist 
that these rough, neghgent, uncivil manners are the proper growth 
of om' institutions, and must more and more characterize us as a 
people, except so far as we imitate the over-polished nations of the 
old world. It is argued that a state of things so fluctuating in the 
matter of individual wealth — where the continual subdivision of pro- 
perty must forever pi'event the social ascendancy of any class which 
might serve as a reservoir of elegance, and a standard for the general 
manners — must tend towards a barbarous arrogance, and the lack 
of those accomplishments and amenities which, in aristocratic coun- 
tries, being cultivated by the privileged classes who desire to dignify 
their leisure, serve as an example to those immediately below those 
classes, and so on, through the descending scale, as an incentive to 
all. 



THE EVENING BOOK. 103 



If we allow that such prognostics are well founded, it must he 
after conceding that there is no standard of manners less fluctuating 
than Fashion — that there are no rules of behavior of universal 
application — that, in short, imitation is our only resoi't. This is too 
weak and narrow, nay, too vulgar an idea to be entertained for a 
moment. What ! can we believe that the progress of society — the 
approach of the human race in knowledge and goodness to the 
Image in which it was made — is left at the mercy of a few pei-sons — 
not the wisest or best — who call themselves the AVorld ! Has this 
class ever yet been selected by Providence as the immediate instru- 
ment of any of its great designs for the good of the whole ? Has 
it not always rather been a merely tolerated excrescence on the body 
pohtic, destined to be gi-adually absorbed as the great whole 
advances to perfect health ? We cannot gi-ant that this soi-disant 
world is empowered to give laws on any subject more important 
than the tie of a cravat, the depth of a curtsey, or the dividing line 
between two shades of the same color, one of which shall be 
" exquisite," while the other is " horrid." We can allow its judgment 
in a dispute among milKnei-s, which can make her patient look most 
unhke nature, or between two mantua-makers, who shall produce 
the best resemblance to the inhuman figures in a French print of 
the fashions. If a question arise as to what extent of arrogance in 
a lady may be lawful, and how far she- may go without being con- 
sidered an encroacher upon others' rights of haughtiness, we are 
willing the " world " should decide, being the party interested ; or 
if we would know how to crush the young aspiring of some heart 
heaven-directed toward the hving Truth, we shall certainly ask its 
ad\ice. But in ascertaining the principles on which, if at all, the [ 
great human family may be indeed a house of brothers, we must-' 
look further and higher for authority. All the maxims of this same 



104 THE EVENING BOOK. 



' world' are short- sighted and ignoble, content with reference to the 
single day that is passing, and that only as far as itself is concerned. 
For the eternal Future and the undistinguished crowd it cares 
nothing ; iU timidity and indolence shun the thought of the one, 
its selfish feebleness cannot afford any recognition of the other. 

It is strange that we Americans should bow as we do to any such 
self-appointed tribunal. The foundations of this great country of 
om-s — of which we are, under certain circumstances, apt to boast a 
little more than is becoming — were laid in professions of equahty 
and brotherhood, which it required a good deal of philosophy even 
to adopt, still more to put in honest practice. But we did adopt 
them, and not by the acclamations of a few demagogues, as so many 
specious measures are adopted, but by the concurrent impulse of the 
whole national mind, under the guidance of the wise and good men 
sent by Heaven to our aid in that fateful moment. We adopted, as 
a people, sentiments which derive their origin and their sanction 
from Christianity, and this when we were suffering under the legiti- 
mate effects of opposite ones. We had learned, by sad contrast, 
what precious things were justice and humanity, and fellow-feehng, 
and we chose them for our watchwords — a choice whose sincerity 
many a vaunt since that day of trial and enthusiasm has attested. 
Our nation, as a nation is less satisfied than formerly with the 
I wisdom of the original choice. Far from growing less democratic, 
I we become every year more so. No step backwai-ds is considered 
possible, even by the most anxious conservative. Every modification 
of the law tends to a stricter and more hteral equahty of rights and 
privileges. It requires all the power of the South, exerted with the 
energy of a life-struggle, to keep even the blacks in a degraded caste, 
so all pervasive is the influence of our political creed upon our social 
practice. For the first time since the creation, is exhibited the 
spectacle of an equality almost Christian. The servant is as his 



WHAT SHALL WE BE? 105 



master, and in truth is sometimes not a little disposed to change 
phices with him ; indeed if it were not for daily importations from 
monarchial countries, we of the North should have no servants at 
all. The continual subdivision of property by law, where primogeni- 
ture has no privileges, obliges the sons or grandsons of the rich to 
exert themselves for the acquisition of the means of hfe, and so puts 
them at least on a level with the descendants of the poor — generally 
rather below them in the capacity to acquire, since habits of frugality 
and self-denial are much more hkely to result in competence, than 
the more indulgent ones which wealth begets. 

This state of things has had a marked effect on our character and 
manners as indi\iduals. We are a good-natured and brotherly 
people ; we like to be closely bound together by ties of family, and 
neighborhood, business, church, and politics. A man must be very 
contemptible or odious, if, after he has once been respected or hked 
among us, any misfortune happening to him is not felt with sym- 
pathy by the pubHc ; and remedied as far as may be. I do not 
mean that misfortunes happening to individuals are felt as they 
ought to be in a community of Christians, who are bound by theu* 
allegiance to their Master, to consider the suffering of one member 
as the suffering of the whole body ; but I have often thought that 
there was more public sympathy and generous aid to the unfortu- 
nate here than I had ever heard of or been able to discover any 
where else. At the West, if a man's house burn down, his neigh- 
bors immediately join and build him another ; and not content with 
this, scour the country for forty miles round, if necessary, to stock it 
with comforts. If a poor woman die and leave helpless httle ones, 
somebody is sure to adopt them and bring them up, not on the cold 
pittance of a grudging charity, but as sons and daughters. And in 
spite of the keenness of business-competition, so inimical to some of 



106 THE EVENING BOOK. 



the \irtues, where is found so warm a mercantile sympathy as in our 
great commercial cities ? 

Why then should there be any Americans who desire to return to 
the hollow and unchristian tone of society which is the ine\dtabl0 
result of unjust and unrighteous social distinctions ? As a nation, 
we have put our hand to the plough and cannot look back if we 
would ; we have chosen a path which our sons and daughters may 
pui-sue wath firmness and dignity, leading the great procession in 
whose ranks all mankind are now so anxious to enrol themselves. 
Wherever we go, we are looked upon as the representatives of the 
principle of self-government. Our actions and even our manners, 
are examined as tests both of the soundness of our political maxims, 
and the sincerity and intelligence with which we adopt them. We 
cannot persuade any body to consider our national ideas as a 
separate thing from our national manners. We have voluntarily- 
placed all spurious dignity out of our reach by the most solemn acts 
of renunciation; making it forever disgraceful in an American 
citizen to claim for himself any honor which he has not earned. 
Some foreigner has said that the only aristocracy of the United 
States was to be found in the famihes of our revolutionary heroes, 
civil and military ; but the nation ignores even these claims, if the 
descendant show in his own character no mark of the worthiness of 
his ancestry. We have absolutely no sinecures, even of fame ; every 
man must earn whatever consideration he enjoys. The richest men 
the country has ever possessed, have stood exactly where they 
deserved to stand, in pubhc estimation, their wealth passing for 
nothing, or worse than nothing, in the account. Our Presidents, 
after they have fulfilled their term of office as pubhc servants, retire 
into the ranks of common men, without the least vestige of their 
kino'ly power chnging to them, even in the shape of the smallest 



WHAT SHALL WE BE? 107 



provision for their wants, which might place them above the neces- 
sity of exertion. If they or their famihes should claim any pecuHar 
position in society on account of past honors, the whole country 
would deride their folly and inconsistency. Yet there are not want- 
ing those among us who, with no claim beyond a little wealth — and 
that too, depending on a mercantile basis, proverbially fleeting, — 
attempt to imitate on a small scale the arist^ktic insolence which 
they observe in the English ; forsake the true and wholesome notions 
of kindness and consideration for othei-s in which their parents were 
educated, and practice the coldness, the disregard, the egotism, which 
have been the natural growth of society in which caste has been 
recognized for thousands of years. 

The true glory of the American character at home or abroad, is 
simphcity, truth, kindness, and a strict regard to the rights and feel- 
ings of others. Whenever the conventional standards of other 
nations conflict with these, they should be repudiated by us, how- 
ever fascinating they may seem to our pride. An Englishman may 
with less blame be self-inclosed, haughty and overbearing. He has 
not only been taught pride, but he has been taught to be proud of 
his pride ; while if an American be mis-proud, he has but his own 
perverse httleness of soul to blame. Not only do individual Enghsh- 
men and Englishwomen indulge themselves in a lofty and self- 
forgetful tone, but the oracles of the nation, the very pulpits, encom*- 
age the unholy illusion. " Condescension" is preached as a virtue to 
the rich, " submission" and " deference" to the poor. A late num- 
ber of the Quarterly Review, in a series of remarks on the subject of 
governesses, which are intended to be liighly humane and generous 
in their tone, after describing a governess as " a being who is our 
equal in bhth, manners and education, but our inferior in worldly 
wealth," remarks — " The hne which severs a governess from her 



108 THE EVENING BOOK 



employers is not one which, will take care of itself, as in the case of 
a servant. If she sits at table she does not shock you — if she opens 
her month she does not distress you — her appeai'ance and mannej 
are likely to be as good as yom* own — her education rather bettej 
there is nothing upon the face of the thing to stamp her as havinj; 
been called to a different state of hfe from that in which it ha? 
pleased God to place you, and therefore the distinction has to be 
kept up by a fictitious barrier." " She is a burden and restraint 
in society, as all must be who are placed ostensibly at the sam^: 
table, and yet are forbidden to help themselves or to be helped to 
the same viands." (!) " She must to all intents and purposes live 
alone, or she transgresses that in\dsible but rigid hue which alono 
establishes the distance between hei-self and her employers." This 
state of things is so entirely according to the reviewer's view of right, 
that he adds a protest against being suspected of " a hope, even a 
wash" to see it remedied. " We must ever keep them in a sort ol 
isolation, for it is the only means for maintaining that distance which 
the reserve of Enghsh manners, and the decorum of Enghsh fami- 
hes exact." If these be the teachers what are we to expect of the 
taught! Can Americans adopt such sentiments and copy such 
manners Tsathout belying their parentage and renouncing the princi- 
ples which made them what they are ? Shall Christian men and 
women among us be dazzled by Enghsh splendor into forgetfiiluess 
of the odious and unfeeling worldhness imphed in such views of hfe ? 
The account of wretchedness, insanity and death, which are the portion 
of a dreadful percentage of English governesses from this one cause 
of ivounded feeling^ should be read in connection with the re^dewer's 
cool speculations on the subject, in order to obtain a just idea of the 
di'eadful self-forgetfulness into which people may run who prefer the 
pampering of theh pride to the practice of justice and humanity. 



WHAT SHALL WE BE ? 1 ;9 



And after reading this, every American can draw liis own conclu- 
sions as to the desirableness of transplanting to our soil this root of 
bitterness, sin and ruin. 

A marked difference between the manners of Englishmen and 
Americans, is shown in their respective behavior under provocation 
or injmy. An American is at least as quick to feel an intentional 
insult as another man ; — at least as prompt in resenting it as a Chris- 
tian man may lawfully be. But if a servant misbehave, or if some 
dispute arise, it will not be natural to him to resort to his fist 
or his boot ; and if he should, in a momentary gust of passion, 
so far foi'get himself, he will not boast of the feat afterwards, com- 
placently constituting himself judge, jury, and executioner in his own 
case, without for a moment suspecting that the question of right and 
wrong may have had two sides. But for an Englishman to act thus 
is nothing remarkable, though he will take care that the abused per- 
son is in a position to be silenced or bought off with a bribe, which 
no American could be. The rights of others operate as a complete 
restraint upon such outbursts of passion with us. 

I would not be understood to mean that in England the law is 
not made to protect the inferior in such cases, or that Englishmen 
are worse natured than other men. I am speaking of manners, as 
modified by certain social pecuharities. The injured party may 
claim redress at the law, but the law, interpreted under the power- 
ful influence of social prejudice, is not a very safe resort for the poor 
man, who is ruined if he fail to estabhsh his charge ; and, practically, 
the superior in fortune does indulge his temper more freely, from 
knowing that any ordinary injury can be compensated in money, 
which could never be the case in the United States. 

Female imitation of Enghsh aristocratic manners among us, is 
generally confined to matters of di'ess, show, equipage and fashions 



110 THE EVENING BOOK. 



of seeing company. We do not imitate our neighbors where they 
are most worthy of imitation — in their sohd and elegant cultivation ; 
in their national habit of ample exercise in the open air, or the excel- 
lently simple and healthy treatment of children. Om* ambition is 
limited to matters connected with " style," and whatever tends to 
the establishment of distinctions in society. We go to the French 
for di'ess, and to the Enghsh for manners — a wise choice if it were 
necessary to ape any body ; how much wiser would be a firm and 
modest originality ; a simplicity founded upon principle ; modera- 
tion in expense, for the express purpose of being liberal where 
liberality is honorable ; plainness of dress, resulting at once from 
good taste and from religious self-denial, for the sake of others to 
whom our flaunting array may be a mortification or a snare ; plain- 
ness of Hving, lest our splendor should separate between us and the 
good to whom God has not seen fit to give riches ; a du-ect truth- 
fulness of speech, as far from the language of unmeaning compliment 
as from the rudeness which bespeaks want of sympathy. In short, 
should we not, as a nation, be happier and more respectable, if we 
carried out, heartily but quietly, in oui* habits and manners, the 
grand and simple ideas to which our country owes her position 
among the nations of the earth ? 

Can any one beheve that we should sink in the world's estimation 
by hving consistently ? Are our ambassadors treated with less con- 
sideration than those of other powers, when they appear in repubh- 
can simplicity in the midst of stars and orders ? They have the 
reality of respect, however unwillingly rendered. Frankhn appeared 
at the most splendid com-t in Europe in his homely woollen hose ; 
was he the man of least consideration there ? The notion of 
republican equality was now then, and this outward plainness was 
understood to be its proper interpretation ; but the power of mind 



WHAT SHALL WE BE? Ill 



was never more fully recognized. Europe is attemptnig to follow us : 
to our own ground — why should we wish to go hack to hers ? She 
has long ago reached what we seem to be striving after — the height 
of luxurious and ungodly hving — and proved its imsatisfactory emp- 
tiness. When we compete ^\ith her here, we place ourselves at dis- 
advantage ; for we cannot equal her, in centm-ies of effort. Artificial 
majmere were in her the natural growth of a thousand circum- 
stances ; in us they ai-e contrary to the natural course of things, and 
a mere aping of what dazzles us. Would we might rather fall in 
love with truth and heartiness ! 

The impossibihty of equalling an old and highly refined nation in 
the realities of splendor, is a reason which should operate on our 
pride, at least. We may purchase a fac simile of the furniture and 
equipage of an Enghsh Duke ; we may buy his cook and give his 
dinners ; or we may provide scenery, dresses and decorations for his 
duchess's soiree or reception — but what have we done towards re- 
flecting the style of his household ? Where is the high breeding, 
the self-poise, the at-home air, among these things ? If we would 
make a dinner party the expense of which should vie with the City 
feast at a coronation, where shall we find the company ? Among 
worthy merchants and lawyers, or members of congress, or judges ? 
Have not some of our gi-eatest men — I may say all our greatest men 
— ^been of the simplest tastes and habits ? Where can we find a 
man whose convei-sation would be of the least value, who would not 
prefer visiting where style was a secondary matter ? And sm-ely a 
splendid feast without elegant conversation is a mortifying sight. 
Even in England, where splendor is inbred, every body groans over 
a grand dinner ; in America the burthen is intolerable, both to 
entertainers and sufferers. 

Do not let us adopt any artificial and un-American customs with 



112 THE EVENING BOOK. 



the desire to imitate, or the hope to rival, oiu* English neighbors* 
Our imitation will be crude and vapid ; our rivalry ridiculous. They 
( could much more profitably imitate us in the simphcity which we 
' despise, and not a few of their best spirits desire to see some 
approach to such a state of things, in the hope of averting the ills 
which threaten their prosperity and grandeur. They feel that theu' 
safety hes in lessening the gulf which hes between the privileged 
classes and " the people." Now we are " the people," and we cannot 
be any body else. To attempt it were as vain as for a soldier to 
step out of the ranks in order to appear to better advantage. With 
us, the good of one is the good of all. We have a grand position 
as independent Americans ; we sink at once into an inferior one, 
when we imitate any body. The whole range of cultivation hes 
[ before us ; we can inform and refine our minds to any extent, and 
spend our fortunes according to the tastes thus imbibed. We may 
hve hberally and even elegantly, without renouncing the dignified 
simphcity which draws its maxims and habits from the proprieties 
of things, and not from the conventionahsms of people in the Old 
Woi'ld ; we may become the patrons of Ai"t, because we love and 
imderstand it, not because somebody else with money patronizes Ai't, 
and we do not like to be behindhand ; w^e may exercise hospitahty 
in the true spirit — that which excludes the idea of emulation, and 
thinks only of social pleasure and kindness. And we can do all this 
without even inquiring what will English or French Mi-s. Grundy 
say, or hampering ourselves vnth a set of rules and notions, which, 
whatever may have been their propriety where they grew up, ai-e to 
us the very killers of healthy enjo3Tiient, enemies of the poetry of 
life. The tameness which is the result of imitation is dreadful. 
Whoever among us speaks his honest sentiments always acknowl- 
edges that our tone of society is dull and uninteresting ; and this is 



WHAT SHALL WE BE? 113 



partlj owing to the incessant pursuit of money ; partly to a dis-| 
regard of aesthetic cultivation ; but principally to a want of natural- 
ness — a spirit of imitation, which prompts us to be always in the 
rear of some model, without the least judgment or taste. We lack 
indi\iduality ; and although the English possess it in a large measure, 
— as from their great self-esteem they might be expected to do — ^yet 
we can never acqime it by copying their manners. 

Let us inquire for a moment what were the seeds of the fashion- 
able manners w^e are so fond of imitating — those which we please 
om'selves with calHng aristocratic. Mr. D'Israeli says of the days 
of King James I. — ' As a historian, it would be my duty to show 
how incredibly gross were the domestic language and the domestic 
familiarities of kings, queens, lords and ladies, which were much hke 
th^ lowest of our populace.' Sh* John Hai-rington gives an account 
of ' a masque given during the visit of the king of Denmark in 
England, at which the ladies who were to have performed could not 
stand from intoxication, and their Majesties of Denmark and Eng- 
land, were both carried to bed by their attendants.' The ladies of 
the court of Charles L, drank, gamed and swore ; enacted jokes of 
which often the wit was as questionable as the propriety ; rode in 
the park ; sailed on the Thames ; visited the theatres in men's 
attire; frequented masquerades, etc' What was fashionable 'for 
gentlemen, we learn from Ben Jonson ; ' Look you, sir, now you 
are a gentleman, you must cany a more exalted presence ; change 
your mood and habit to a more austere form ; be exceeding proud, 
stand upon your gentihty, and scorn every man.' ' The fashion is, 
w^hen any stranger comes in amongst them, they all stand up and 
stare at him, as if he were some unknown beast, brought out of 
Africk. You must be impudent enough, sit down, and use no 
respect; when any thing is propounded above your capacity, smile 



114 THE EVENING BOOK. 



at it, make two or tliree faces at it, and it is excellent ; thougli you 
argue a whole day in silence thus, and discourse nothing but laugh- 
ter, 'twill pass. Only, now and then give fire, discharge a good full 
oath, and offer a great wager, and 'twill be admirable.' Lady Town- 
ley enumerates among the delightful privileges of a married woman 
of fashion, that she may ' have men at her toilet, invite them to 
dinner, appoint them a party in a stage-box at a play, engross the 
conversation there, call 'em by their Christian names, talk louder than 
the players, etc' In later times, the Princess of Wales, mother of 
George III., said, that ' such was the universal profligacy, such the 
character and conduct of the young people of distinction, that she 
was really afraid to have them near her children.' 

It is to be observed that, while the character of the ' fashionable 
world,' was thus unprincipled and degraded, examples of the highest 
virtue were not w^anting, elsewhere, in close proximity to these 
beacons of folly and vice. Each age shows us splendid examples, 
in both sexes, but they do not belong to the class which exalts 
fashion into an aim of hfe. It requires no unjust severity to say, that 
in that class there are no such examples. Why — if the pattern of 
vu'tue be not lost — if it inspire compatriots and contemporaries — 
why is one particular class beyond the reach of its influence, so com- 
pletely that by no accident is any one of its members ever found 
eminent in the ranks of goodness ? The question needs no answer, 
but we may ask what worthy reason there can be for our ambition 
to belong to a body thus inferior in aims and deficient in moral 
power. 

We might fill out these hints, and bring down a succession of 
})ictures even to the present day, but there is no occasion. Pubhc 
sentiment has made such advances that open grossness is not tole- 
rated in our day, in any rank of society. But the spirit of what is 



WHAT SHALL WE BE? II5 



called fashionable life is the same ; its foundation is the same in the 
most important particular, y\z : in maintaining that the whims and 
foolish devices of a few idle wealthy people shall be the standard of 
manners and customs — a principle which casts discredit upon all 
that men have agreed in considering wise and good, even whei-e it 
does not lead to an open abrogation of the essentials of morality. 
This is the true vice of Fashion — not that it is frivolous — not that 
it sacrifices too much to mere beauty, or mere pleasure — not that it 
leads to imprudent or even dishonest expenditm*e ; but that it vir- 
tually sets aside the ancient and only standards of right, in favor of 
a code of laws as weak and mean as they are fluctuating. 

It is a wonder that any considerable class of persons has ever 
been found willing to become the humble imitators of mere folly 
and arrogance ; a still greater wonder that such a class should exist 
among us. Let us hope that a better understanding of oui^selves 
and our position will bring us back, at no very distant day, to a 
more sagacious estimate of ton. Our ton should be that of true and 
honorable simphcity — the simphcity, not of ignorance, but of prin- 
ciple — the ton of kindhness and universal consideration, of intelli- 
gence, of industiy, of respect for probity and delicacy, in whatever 
station found. 

It is the appai-ent refinement of fashionable people that tempts 
many, who do not perceive that an appearance of refinement often 
covei-s real coarseness. Eefinement of soul is one thing ; mere out- 
ward delicacy quite another ; but the young, the thoughtless and the 
feeble-minded are apt to overlook the distinction. True delicacy 
is often found in the humblest ranks of life, horrible coarseness in the 
highest. Let us learn to judge of things as they are, disregarding 
all false glare. 



316 THE EVENING BOOK. 



Here, as m all other cases, we find in the Bible, a rule suited to 
our needs : " Whatsoever things are true, whatsover things are 
honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, what- 
soever things are lovely, whatsoever things ai*e of good report ; if 
there be any virtue and any praise, think on these things." Is this 
the groundwork of the fashionable code ? 




, pslfjp 



'#1 



I 




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' ■]'v\%'^' l llll "'M-i l l 



Twm ^©JiE^ii^c 



FASTIDIOUSNESS. 

Who, that is not a botanist, likes to see one of that disenchant- 
ing and unpoetical craft coolly pull into fragments — cut, maim, and 
disfigure — discolor with pitiless acids and virulent alkalies, a ad 
macerate to undistinguishable pulp — his favorite flower? Who 
can bear to see petals pinched — anthers analyzed — pericarps pried 
into — roots rummaged — by a utihtarian ? How much pleasanter is 
it to find sacred emblems in a certain pecuhar arrangement of 
stamens and pistils ; read constancy of affection in 

The sunflower that turns on her god when he sets 
The same look that she turned when he rose — 

and listen with believing ears to 

Hyacinths, purple and white and blue, 
That fling from their bells a sweet peal anew, 
Of music so delicate, soft and intense, 
It is felt like an odor within the sense ! 

Delicate things should be treated dehcately ; the golden beauty 
of ]3ollen is lost in the handling. It is one of the cherished evi- 



118 THE EVENIIVG BOOK. 



dences of ultra refinement to hold many things too nice to be 
touched, and this thought brings us to our subject. 

The fastidious are of right shocked at any examination into the 
iiatui-e and essence of fastidiousness. They would be ready to for- 
swear it after its humiliating subjection to vulgar tests, if there were 
anything else that could so well distinguish the ineffable few from 
the intolerable many. It is their own — their chosen — their resource 
— their defence — their hope — their glory ; — to question with or 
upon it is insolently coarse ; to doubt its rightful supremacy, pro- 
fane. We remember reading somewhere of a simple rural lover 
who had followed some Lady Clara Vere de Vere to town, there to 
behold her waltzed and polka'd with by all manner of men, return- 
ing to his shades in despairing disgust : 

Sir, she's yours ! you have brushed from the grape its soft blue, 
From the rose-bud you've shaken the tremulous dew — 
What you've touched you may take ! — 

We have some fear that fastidiousness will be even so — contemp- 
tuously left to the critics, if they once try their art upon it. But 
we claim the privilege of science, which dissects without respect to 
persons, and does not blush to be the sworn enemy of poetry. 

To begin botanically then : Where shall we class this dower of 
worldhness — among the roots of heahng or the subtle poisons ? 

Shall it take rank with the favored Camellia in the bouquet of 
beauty, or with 

Thistles and nettles and darnels rank, 
And the dock and the henl^ane and hemlock dank — 
Prickly and pulpous and blistering and blue, 
Livid, and starr'd with a lurid hue ? 

ft is hard to characterize it, for it is full of anomalie.^ ; .^.oniftiiu -s 



FASTIDIOUSNESS. 119 



splendid and deadly, like tlie scarlet Lobelia, sometimes intoxicating 
and delusive as Hellebore, and again harmless and insipid as some 
' weed inane.' But let us not be led by these spiral liguratives to 
a height of metaphor from which it may be difficult to slip down 
gracefully. 

In the plainest prose, then, what is fastidiousness ? 

Stern old Johnson, who confessed that it was difficult for him to 
pity the choice sorrows of a fine lady, says, to be fastidious is to be 
'insolently nice — delicate to a vice — squeamish — disdainful.' Do 
these seem amiable adjectives ? Impertinent dictionary-maker ! 
Unaccommodating, obdurate, Saxon tongue ! Is there no unique 
name for that fine essence — that impalpable sina qua non — which 
is the hfe and soul of the genteel ? No ! none but itself can be its 
parallel. Let us then not seek to define but to examine it. 

Pei*sonal fastidiousness is said to be the characteristic of a condition 
of high refinement. If refinement were a matter of physics, this might 
be admitted. The Israelitish ladies ' could not set the sole of their 
foot to the ground for dehcateness and tenderness,' but were they, 
therefore, refined women ? There is an imphcation even of impiety 
in the scriptural notice of them. Poppaea must have a bath of 
asses' milk ; somebody of old wept because a rose-leaf was doubled 
under him. Not to go beyond our own day and sphere for instances, 
we have ourselves known a gentleman who would not sign his name 
until he had put on his gloves, lest by any accident his fingers 
should incur the contamination of ink ; and a lady who objected to 
joining in the Holy Communion, because the idea of drinking after 
other people was so disgusting ! Shall we then reckon among the 
marks of true refinement a quality which is compatible with igno- 
rance, with \ice, with inanity, vanity, and irrelignon ? 



120 THE EVENING BOOK. 



Ilans Christian Andersen has given us one of his shrewd httle 
stories in point. 

There was once a prince of great honor and renown who wished 
to marry a real princess. Many pei'sons calhng themselves princesses 
had been offered for this dignity, but there was always something 
about the ladies which made him doubtful of their claim to the title. 
So not being able to satisfy his fastidiousness on this point, he 
remained for a long time undecided. 

One night during a tremendous storm, a young lady came to the 
door and requested admittance, sapng that she was a real princess. 
She was in a most pitiable condition — draggled from head to foot, 
with the rain pouring in torrents from her dishevelled locks, she 
looked forlorn enough for a beggar. But the prince would not pre- 
judge her ; he invited her to spend the night, and in the meantime 
his mother devised a plan by which to ascertain whether her preten- 
sions were genuine. On the place where the princess was to sleep she 
put three small peas, and on the top of them twenty mattresses, 
covering these again with twenty feather beds. Upon this luxurious 
couch the supposed princess retired to rest, and in the morning she 
was asked how she had passed the night. 

' Oh, most wretchedly,' she replied ; ' there was something hard 
in my bed which distressed me extremely, and has bruised me all 
over black and blue !' 

Then they knew that her pretensions w^ere not false, for none but 
a real princess could have possessed sufficient dehcacy of perception 
to feel the three little peas under twenty mattresses and twenty 
feather beds ! 

Is not then delicacy of personal habits desirable ? 

Beyond doubt, when it is held in subservience to higher things. 
The man or woman to whom coai-seness is not offensive, can never 



FASTIDIOUSNESS. 121 



be agreeable as a companion, whatever the general excellence which 
might be expected to counterbalance this defect of nature or educa- 
tion. But to be naturally or habitually delicate is one thing, to be 
systematically fastidious quite another. The quahty or habit we 
are considering has its root in the profoundest egotism, and its 
branches are so numerous that it is impossible to consider them all 
in detail. It is hke the paper-mulberry tree, no two leaves of which 
are ahke. Let us pick a sprig or two here and there as specimens. 

Fastidiousness, when unaffected — which it is not always — is very 
generally a mark of weakness. Persons of exalted ^drtue are never 
reputed to be fastidious, and why ? not because they are constituted 
differently from other men, but because great objects — noble aims — 
occupy the soul and thoughts to the exclusion of whatever might 
interfere with them. If a man who has devoted himself to the 
highest pursuits which can engage the attention of mortals, finds 
fastidious habits in his way, they will be the first sacrifice he will 
lay upon the altar of duty. But it may be questioned whether 
these habits will not be often beforehand with us, effectuahy pre- 
venting any hearty devotion to duty. Questioned, did we say ? 
Alas ! does not every day's observation show us that they are the 
hindrance, in too many cases, especially of feminine goodness ? In 
the care of the poor, and especially in any attempt to reform the 
\icious, is not this conspicuously the difficulty, even to the extent of 
subjecting a woman to the charge of coarseness if she is found able 
to bear the presence of the squahd and the degraded ? We have 
heard ladies observe calmly and with obvious self-complacency, that 
they could not endure the very atmosphere of the poor, and must 
leave the care of them to those who could ! And we could not 
help feehng that the daring required for such an avowal might have 
served an excellent purpose if turned in the right direction. 



122 THE EV^ENING BOOK. 



Fastidiousness is a di-eadful weapon of domestic tyranny. Many 
a household can tell the grinding power of a selfishness which dis- 
guises itself under the form of delicacy of tastes and habits. Many 
are the tears of vexation, anxiety, mortification, and disappointment 
occasioned by the unfeeling temper and inconsiderate exactions 
which are the legitimate fruit of undue attention to personal com- 
fort. One must be little observant of what is about him if he have 
not sometimes been driven, by the ingenious requisitions of the self- 
indulgent, to wish that the hair shirt, the pulse-and-water, and the 
ilinty bed of the anchorite could be tried for the reformation of 
such. Providence seems often to discipline these people by increas- 
ing the sensitiveness they have voluntarily induced or cherished, 
until it becomes a tormenting want which nothing in nature is capa- 
ble of allaying. They are crushed by the gods their own hands 
have set up. 

But personal fastidiousness, although a hardener of the heart, a 
traitor to the rights and feeling of those who depend on us, a bar to 
improvement, a puller down of all the faculties of the soul, is not 
the only form of this specious enemy. Its effects upon society are 
quite as extensive and fatal in its other character of — what we may 
«all for want of a more expressive term — exclusiveness. In this 
shape its office is to allow value and charm to all that is desirable, 
only in proportion as others are shut out from its enjoyment. It 
seems strange that this so obvious refuge of empty pride could 
become a formidable moral evil, but it is one of the sorest of our 
condition of society — a condition which, because it is artificial and 
contrary to our better nature, we please ourselves with calling 
refined. An anxious reaching after something which shall distin- 
guish us from others is one of the natural traits of mortal man ; but 
one of the most unlox^ely and ungenerous manifestations of this dis- 



FASTIDIOUSNESS. 123 



position is the attempt to undervalue a large part of all the things 
and people that we see, in order that our taste and judgment may 
be reckoned supreme by people as superficial as oui-selves. It is 
this which occasions the hstlessness displayed by certain persons 
when they are out of their own set ; the chilhng look, the dead 
reply, the disclaiming air with which they decline to participate in 
social pleasures which have not a certain conventional sanction. 
They are so fastidious ! They lament the fault, too, with an air 
that says they would not be without it for the world ; they evidently 
feel that their chosen position depends upon an incapacity to enjoy 
common pleasures, quite ignorant all the while that the highest 
point and object of true cultivation is a universal human sympathy. 
The eagle can look down from such a commanding altitude that the 
difference in height of the objects on the plain is scarcely percepti- 
ble ; while the mole, bhnking about a diameter of a few inches, is 
quite sure there is nothing worth seeing beyond that circle. What 
wounds, what heart-burnings, what stiflings of the sweet charities 
of hfe, what ' evil surmisings,* what an unchristian tone of 
intercourse, what loss of a thousand advantages to be commu- 
nicated and received, result from the cultivation of a spirit of fastid- 
ious exclusiveness ! How much spontaneous kindness is prevented 
by the intrusion of a cultivated and cherished distaste for certain 
harmless peculiarities which we have chosen to consider intolei-able ! 
We can pardon criminality in some shapes more easily than we c.in 
overlook mere unpleasantness in others, so arbitrary is our fastidious- 
ness, so unamenable to right reason. ' There are far worse sins than 
sins against taste,' said a young clergyman once to a lady who was 
inveio-hino; ao-ainst the coarseness of certain reformei-s ; and the les- 
son might well be repeated in many a so-called refined circle. One 



124 THE EVENING BOOK. 



3f the deep condemnations of this effeminate nicety is that it is 
a,lways exercised about trifles. 

Like other things spurious, fastidiousness is often inconsistent 
with itself ; the coarsest things are done, the cruellest things said 
by the most fastidious people. Horace Walpole was a proverb of 
epicurean particularity of taste, yet none of the vulgarians whom he 
vilified had a keener rehsh for a coarse allusion or a mahcious false- 
hood. Beckford, of Fon thill, demanded that Mfe should be thrice 
winnowed for his use, but what was his life ? Louis XIV. was 
^'insolently nice" in some things, what was he in others? If we 
observe a person proud of a reputation for fastidiousness, we shall 
always find that the egotism which is its life will at times lead him 
to say or do something disgusting. We need expect from such 
people no delicate, silent self-sacrifice, no tender watching for othei's' 
tastes or needs, no graceful yielding up of privileges in unconsidei'ed 
trifles, on which wait no " flowing thanks." They may be kind and 
obhging to a certain extent, but when the service required inrolves 
anything disagreeable, anything offensive to the taste on which they 
pride themselves, we must apply elsewhere. Their fineness of nature 
sifts common duties, selecting for practice only those which will pass 
the test ; and conscience is not hurt, for unsuspected pride has given 
her a bribe. 

One of the fruits of misplaced fastidiousness is the utter and intole- 
rable tameness which it induces in society. We ask for truth and 
nature in poetry and painting, and find nothing so charming as 
flashes of natui-al genius in literature ; but in society everything is 
crushed to a dead level, and by what ? By a tyrannical something 
which claims to be good taste, but which is in truth any tiling else. 
This resolute frowning down or freezing up of whatever is sponta- 
neous is not the operation of good taste, but the cunning artifice of 



FASTIDIOUSNESS. 125 



dull people, who, having secured certain physical advantages, use 
them for the purpose of repressing in others whatever might 
threaten to disturb their empire. It seems strange at first view that 
this should have been practicable, and the reason why it is so is 
rather a mortifying one. The power of wealth, even of wealth in 
which we have no interest, is overwhelming. It has ever been so 
since the world began ; whoever becomes the envied possessor of a 
few extra thousands, has a more obvious power on the surface of 
society than the man of genius or learning can possibly have ; and if 
he would hve in society he must submit to take the tone which has 
been given to it by such people. We need not then wonder that 
persons of high intellectual pretensions so often decline society. It 
suits not the free mind, which finds its best pleasure in the exercise 
of its highest powers, to spend its precious hours and energies where 
every emotion of the soul must be suppressed, and ever}^ independent 
thought is voted " bad taste," if it do not happen to chime in with 
the tone of the circle. If we would give our social intercoui*se the 
charm whose absence we so often regret, we must learn to distin- 
guish between true dehcacy and justness of taste, — a quality referable 
to principles and not amenable to fantas}^ — and that fickle tyrant 
fastidiousness, which claims despotic power, and wields its sceptre so 
capriciously that we may as well ask a fool to " render a reason." 

The fastidiousness of society does not content itself with repressing 
the natural expression of our feelings on subjects comparatively 
indifferent ; it cai-ries its pretensions still further. Certain topics of 
great importance, of the first moment, are prohibited altogether. It 
is considered bad taste, and voted indubitable cant, to introduce the 
subject of religion ; one may talk of church affairs, discuss the 
sermon ad libitum^ pass the most sweeping judgment on the char- 
acter and manner of the pastor, the dress and behavior of his wife. 



126 THE EVENING BOOK. 



and the management of his family ; may point out the inconsistent 
behavior of church members, and so confess by imphcation that 
there is a standard somewhere ; but to speak of rehgion itself, 
seriously and practically ; to make its experience or its duties the 
theme of conversation, is to dare looks of cold dislike, and to make 
one's company shunned like a pestilence. It used to be considered 
mauvais ton to " mention hell to ears pohte," but in modern society 
it will hardly do to allude to heaven. And this is not to be ascribed 
so much to the irreligiousness of those who proscribe sacred subjects, 
as to the general impression, the effect of false notions of civihzation, 
that only mediocrity of talk is safe ; that whatever would quicken 
the dull flow of the blood, bring color to the cheek and fire to the 
eye, is dangerous in society. This is undoubtedly the great reason 
why rehgion is so much left, even among people who would like to 
be good if they could, for Sunday use and cultivation, and for times 
of affliction, when emotion is not out of place, because the depths of 
the soul are stiired by God himself, and man has no power to enforce 
the ordinary chilling calm. 

We would not be considered as pleading for what is sometimes 
called religious conversation, too often as far from truth and natui*e 
as the most inane talk of fashionable society ; but for liberty to talk 
on whatever subject really interests us. This excludes cant and all 
prosing for effect. If it were allowable for all to talk on religious 
subjects when so disposed, there would be the less field for those 
who assume the right as if it were an exclusive merit. Perfect 
liberty for all would leave no temptation to hypocritical pretendei-s 
or weak devotees, for liberty induces a healthful action, which natu- 
rally extinguishes whatever is spurious and forced. Conversation is 
much impoverished by the exclusion of religion, for there is scarcely 
a subject of human interest which can be fully treated without refer- 



FASTIDfOUSNESS. 12*7 



ence to it. This may seem to some a sweeping assertion, but those 
who doubt may see an admirable exemphfication of om* meaning in 
two modern works by one author, " Modern Paintei-s," and " The 
Seven Lamps of Architecture," by Mr. Ruskin, a writer who insists 
on the connexion not only of art but of every gi-atification of our 
hio;her nature with relioion. 

The exclusion of religious topics from conversation, includes, of 
course, the exclusion of all discussion of morals deduced from reli- 
gion. Moral rules founded on social convenience and pubhc order 
are within the pale ; it is only when we would contemplate a code 
of morals which is somewhat stricter than the law of the land, that 
we offend fastidious taste. Here is another cause of barrenness, for 
who can dwell for ever in the merest externals, without becoming 
distressingly cold and empty ? How is it possible to take an intelli- 
gent interest in human afiairs, without contemplating them in their 
moral bearings, whether obvious or remote ? If it be contended 
that to talk about these things is to do no good, we might refer to 
the objector's own experience, and ask whether, on close examination 
of the sources of some of his most important moral impressions, he 
does not discover that a sentiment uttered in ordinary conversation 
by some man of sense or piety lies at the very root of his comnc- 
tions of duty. The aiTows of truth stick, whether shot from for- 
mally prepared and authorized bows or not. The mind may be on 
its guard against regular teachings, while it will receive unquestioned 
an idea which, though presented by a seeming chance, is yet com- 
mended by truth to the understanding or the conscience. How 
important then is it to enjoy a free expression of sentiment on mat- 
ter of importance ! The ' word fitly spoken,' which is truly ' like 
apples of gold in pictures (baskets) of silver,' should never be lost, 
in deference to a pretentious and stolid fastidiousness. It is as mnch 



128 THE EVENING BOOK. 



our duty to bear our testimony to the truth when occasion offers, 
as to act conscientiously in any other way. To suppress the good 
word is a sin, and it is a sin to which society continually tempts the 
unwary. It is not long since we ourselves heard an ingenuous young 
person say, ' I felt as if I ought to say w^hat I thought, but I did 
not dare.' ' Wlaj not V ' O, they would have thought me so dis- 
agreeable !' It is in vain to expect most persons to have the courage 
to be honest in the expression of unpopular sentiments at such cost, 
and every instance of conscious disingenuousness takes something 
from our self-respect and our courage in withstanding evil. 

What is called fastidiousness in literature is, happily for literature, 
nearly out of date. The first demand now-a-days, is that a wi'iter 
shall say something, and only the second that he shall say it well. 
Mere style is but httle esteemed, except so far as it has direct fitness 
to convey ideas clearly. There is plenty of criticism of style, but 
its grounds are more manly than they were a hundred yeare since. 
There are hypercritics of course, but nobody minds them, and the 
usual tone of remark on books is so general, that we are in danger 
of fahing into a neglectful habit of writing, through lack of that 
sharp and carping spirit which v/as fashionable in the days of War- 
burton and Ritson. The few who still attempt to be no-ted for 
hterary fastidiousness are usuall}^ heard to utter only sentences of 
lofty a,nd general disapprobation. They do not like the book ! 
But why ? Oh, they do not know ! They are unfortunately rather 
fastidious ! It is hard to extract anything like criticism from these 
objectors. They do not like to commit themselves by specific 
remarks which might be refuted. They prefer the safe dignity of 
indefinite censure. There is no disputing about taste, and this saves 
all trouble of argument and explanation. It may be suggested to 
this class of fastidious people that not only good common sense, 



FASTIDIOUSNESS. 129 



but taste, knowledge, sensibility, and sympathy are required to 
make literary judgment worth anything, and they may, perhaps, be 
profitably advised to read what Coleridge has said of critics who 
decide without the aid of these quahties. We must know what a 
work ought to be, before we are competent to say what it is. 

Delicacy of taste in all things is one of the most charming and 
desirable of qualities. It supposes in the first place great perfection 
and sensitiveness of bodily organization, in the second, high cultiva- 
tion, and in the third, a moral tenderness which is trembhngly ahve 
to the most dehcate test. Without the last of these requisites the 
others are null or worse ; with it they are indeed things to be 
thankful for. It was our lot once to meet a gentleman who had 
lost his sight and hearing, yet retained his taste in even incj-eased 
sensibihty — a circumstance which occasioned the keenest mortifica- 
tion to his high-strung and proud mind, because it assimilated him 
with the beasts. Yet who has not known people who prided them- 
selves on this very quality, without reference to any other ? True 
delicacy is founded on principle ; it selects and rejects for a reason. 
Mere fastidiousness is often either conscious coarseness attempting a 
redeeming and genteelifying trait, or ambitious vulgarity aping the 
refined. Dehcacy is consistent, because it is real ; fastidiousness 
forgets to be so when the inducement is absent. Dehcacy is sensi- 
tive for others ; fastidiousness is too often mere self-indulgence 
slightly veiled. Dehcacy is always conciliated by what is intrinsi- 
cally good ; fastidiousness is disgusted by any originality even of 
virtue. Delicacy is at home even in a desert ; fastidiousness can 
exist only in the atmosphere of a pseudo-refinement. Delicacy 
accompanied Catharine Vonder Wart, when she watched alone in 
the open storm all night by her husband, ^viping the foam of agony 
from his lips, and bearing up his spirit as he lay stretched upon the 
6* 



130 THE EVENING BOOK. 



rack ; fastidiousness would have stayed at home, wringing her 
hands and tearing her hau* perhaps, but never thinking such service 
possible. 

But whither are we tending ? We have been led to maiming 
and macerating our flower indeed, to an extent which even botany 
will hardly justify. Do we seem to have treated our subject harshly ? 
It is only seeming. The moment we begin to analyze we must 
necessarily wear the appearance of severity. Is it — can it be — 
needful to say that after all we have said about fastidiousness, there 
are some fastidious people whom we love dearly, and who are full 
of all good things ? When we treat a subject of this nature, we 
must be indulged in a complete abstraction, which allows us to call 
everything by its plainest name, give it its true meaning, and trace 
it out to its legitimate consequences. It is in applying our remarks, 
that allowances are to be made and special circumstances and 
balances considered. That is the business of the reader rather than 
of the writer. Of the wi-iter is to be required only the most rigor- 
ous impartiality of research, and of course the most unflinching self- 
apDhcation 1 



BUSH-LIFE. 

' Adieu, thou beautiful land ! Canaan of the exile, and Ararat 
to many a shattered ark. Fair cradle of a race for whom the 
unbounded heritage of a future that no sage can conjecture, no 

prophet divine, hes afar in the golden promise-light of Time 

None can tell how dear the memory of that wild Bush-hfe becomes 
to him who has tried it with a fitting spirit. How often it haunts 
him in the commonplace of more civihzed scenes ! With what an 
eiSbrt we reconcile om'selves to the trite cares and vexed pleasures, 
' the quotidian ague of frigid impertinences,' to which we return !' 

So sings, in melhfluous prose, the fastidious author of ' Pelham', 
in his healthiest work, ' The Caxtons,' goodly fruit, it is said, of the 
purifying influences of Water ! When Wordsworth boasted of being 
a water-drinker. Professor Wilson jocosely observed that he could well 
beheve it, from the lack of spirit in his poems. But Bulwer shows 
no diminution of spirit in the new novel ; he has only changed 
from a wrong spirit to a right one. The book abounds in manly 
sentiments, in place of the old, tedious, sentimental dandyism ; and 
one of the most striking things is the boldness which sends forth its 
heroes to brave the hardships and trials of new-country life. 



132 THE EVENING BOOK. 



England seems learning, in a new and unexpected way, to sympa- 
thize with the United States. She has looked upon the rapid 
settlement of our new, western country, as from a far height of civil- 
ization, holding up dainty hands at the idea of such rudeness of 
manners, and considering our w^hole country tinged — as indeed 
it is — by certain results of the growth and activity of the West. 
But lately her turn has come. She is now sending not only her 
convicts, but her younger sons, her too-active reformers, her scape- 
graces, and her youth of more nerve than fortune, to people her 
distant islands ; to hunt wild asses, and to tame kangaroos. Then, 
like a good mother as she is, spreading her wings for the protection 
of her brood, she begins to tell us what a fine manly thing emigra- 
tion is, how much better it is for young men — and young women, 
tx)o — to brave the disagreeables of Bush-hfe, than to remain idle and 
effeminate and unprovided for at home. Two of the most striking 
fictions of the day (not to speak of inferior specimens), the one to 
which we have alluded, and another — a poem in hexameters — 
called ' The Bothy of Toper-na-Fuosich,'— -send their heroes to Aus- 
traha, with a heartiness of approval which makes light of the rough- 
ness of life in the wilderness, and seems for the time to find the 
boasted civiKzation of the mother country rather sickly and feverish 
by comparison. This is charming ! it foretells some diminution of 
national prejudice ; for whatever may be the feelings cherished by 
London and Liverpool towards New York and Boston, a brotner- 
hood will surely spring up between Austraha and the wide West : 
nor will home influence on either side be able to counteract the 
sympathy which common toils, privations, customs, hopes, naturally 
originate. The Bushman of Australia is essentially the same being 
with the western settler. Anglo-Saxons both, and too strongly 
characterized by that potent stock to show much subjection to the 



BUSH-LIFE. 133 



accidental traits which have been the consequence of the rending 
of the race into two half-inimical portions in the old and new 
worlds, the circumstances of Bush-hfe will restore the pristine unity, 
and awaken a feehng of brotherhood too strong for the pride, preju- 
dice, and jealousy of either party to resist. Every book, therefore, 
that depicts Bush-hfe, helps on this unity. In discovering how com- 
pletely the hopes, occupations, habits, labors, privations, and plea- 
sures of a new-country hfe are one and the same, whether the mild 
skies of Van Diemen's Land, or the brilhant ones of Wisconsin 
bend above the settler, we are brought at once to a mutual recogni- 
tion of the natural bonds that bind man to his fellow, and learn to 
acknowledge gladly all our human ties, and with an especial warmth 
those which unite us to brethren in a common fortune. 

It is cheering to find the subjects of an ancient and over-ripe 
civihzation, which has aheady produced some ruinous as well as. 
some splendid fruits, beginning to recognize the dignity of labor — 
at least beginning to own that labor and hard hving are not neces- 
sarily degrading. A character once famihar to English writers and 
readers — that of a younger son, too proud to work, and too self- 
indulgent to endure the privations attendant upon small means, 
existing as a hanger-on in the family of the heir — will never come 
within the cognizance of the next generation. The axiom once 
accepted that a man, in whatever station, is exalted and not debased. 
by work, the class will disappear. Add to this new doctrine a 
recognition of the benefits attending self denying and robust per- 
sonal habits, and the law of primogeniture will in part become its 
own antidote, by supplying the out crops of the great Island with a 
class of settlers at once hardy and generous, thrifty and noble- 
minded. Leaving field sports to their elder brothers, these more 
hopefal sons of Old England will make sport of earnest, and fee! 



134 THE EVENING BOOK. 



none the less proud of tlie antlers on their walls, because the venison 
to which they belonged was a necessary of hfe instead of a luxury. 
People who have only heard or read of life in the wilderness 
have but crude notions of its actual characteristics. No way of life 
more absolutely requires to be tried, in order to be understood. 
The accepted idea perhaps includes wolf-hunts, and bear-fights, and 
deer-shooting ; sleeping in the woods, fording rivers, following 
Indian trails, or wading streams in search of fish. This view of 
things is a poor preparation for the reality of life in the wilderness. 
It makes charming books, as witness the many of which it has 
formed the staple ; but for the plain truth of the matter, such as 
forces itself upon every man's convictions after he has transferred his 
domicile and his household gods to the woods, we might as well go 
to the melancholy Jacques where he lies 

' Weeping and commenting 
Upon the sobbing deer' — 

for a practical notion of forest hfe. It is, indeed a life of hardship, 
but, ' with a difference.' 

Hardships are not always trials. There is a rousing power in 
wild adventure, which makes hunger and cold and hard lodging 
smd press of danger only inspiring. These are not the things that 
try the souls of those who exchange a condition of high civilization 
for the privations of the woods. Far more wearisome, because 
somewhat mortifying, are the petty circumstances attending the 
daily cares for mere subsistence which form the staple of sober 
existence in a new country ; where a man goes not to hunt and fish, 
but to repair his fortunes by industry and economy ; to ' buy and 
sell and get gain ;' to win the treasures of the soil with hands used 
only to the pen ; to fell primeval trees with an axe that has never 



BUSH-LIFE. ] 35 



cut anything larger than a fishing rod. Such an adventurer may 
carry everything with him hut the one thing needful, — habits 
suited to the exigence. Even a stout frame and a stout heart will 
not suffice at fiist. Time alone can accomplish the assimilating 
process, and for time he cannot wait. 

Emigrants are apt, at the outset, to feel somewhat of reforming 
zeal. They have just left regions where hfe wears a smooth aspect ; 
where convention hides much that is coarse and unpleasant ; where 
the round of human business and duty is comprised in a few conve- 
nient formulas, or seems to be so ; and where each man, using, as it 
were, the common sense and experience of the whole, naturally 
fancies himself wiser than he really is, and where he is indeed prac- 
tically wiser than isolated man can easily be. So the emigrailt feels 
as if he had much to tell ; something to teach, as well as something 
to learn. If he must depend somewhat on his neighbors for an 
insight into the pecuhar needs of his new position, he is disposed to 
return the favor by correcting, both by precept and example, some 
of the awkward habits, the ear-wounding modes of speech, and 
unnecessary coarseness which he sees about him. Above all does 
he determine that the excellent treatise on farming which he has 
studied and brought with him, shall aid him in introducing, before 
very long, something like a rational system, instead of the short- 
sighted, slovenly, losing, hand-to-mouth practices which are wasting 
the riches of the land. 

The waking-up is quite amusing. To find that nobody perceives 
his own deficiencies, while everybody is taking great pains to make 
yours apparent ; that your knowledge is considered among your 
chief disabilities ; that you are, in short, looked upon as a pitiable 
ignoramus, stuffed only with useless fancies, offensive pride, silly fas- 
tidiousness, and childish love of trifles ; that your grand farming 



136 THE EVENING BOOK. 



theories are laughed at, and your social refinements viewed as indi- 
cating a sad lack of common sense and good feeling ; — the blank 
and helpless sense of unfitness that comes over one under such cir- 
cumstances is indescribable. This is always supposing that you are 
unequal to bodily labor. If you can chop or plough, there is con- 
fessed to be something of you, even though your ideas be si"^ 
But if, coming from a land where head is all-powerful and hand 
only subservient, your muscles are feeble and your brain active, you 
must be content with the position of an inferior, and for awhile play 
the part of a child in the hands of older and wiser people. 

This aspect of Bush-fife lacks the pleasant stimulants- with which 
the imagination is apt to invest it. Where are the hunting and 
fishing which were to cheer your leisure hours ? You have no 
leisure hours ; and if you had, to spend them in hunting and fish- 
ing would set you down at once as a ' loafer' — the last term of con- 
demnation where everybody works all the time ; lives to work rather 
than works to five. Your fine forest di*eams give way before the 
necessity for ' clearing.' If you take a morning walk over the 
breezy hills, it will probably be in search of a stray cow ; and you 
may find it necessary to prolong your stroll indefinitely, returning, 
under the blazing sun of noon, to dinner instead of breakfast. 
Your delightful, uninterrupted evenings, where so many books were 
to be devoured, in order to maintain a counter-influence to the 
homely toils of the day, must be sacrificed, perhaps, to sleep, in 
order to be ready for an early start in the morning, in search of 
additional ' hands' at the threshing, or that most valuable and most 
slippery of all earthly goods in the new country — a * hired girl.' If 
you chance to have an old friend undei'going a similar probation ten 
or twenty miles off, and feeling a yearning deshe to seek counsel or 
sympathy at his hands, be sure that after you have made up your 



BUSH-LIFE. 137 



mind to sacrifice everytliing to this coveted visit, which you feel will 
set you up in courage for a month to come, you will find you ' can- 
not have the horses,' without such a derangement of the business at 
,home as would bespeak an insane disregard of your interest, and 
lead your whole dependency to look upon you as a fool past pray- 
ing for. 

Has new-country life, then, no pleasures ? Many ; but they are 
not exactly those we anticipate. To recur to the testimony with 
which our musings began. ' None can tell how dear the memory 
of that wild Bush-fife becomes to him who has tiied it with a fitting 
spirit /' And it could hardly become dear to the cultivated, if it 
were that mere dull, mechanical, animal, grubbing existence that 
some suppose it to be. Wherein then consists the charm ? It is 
hard to specify : for, like other charms, it has something of inexpfi- 
cable magic in it. We spend our lives here in weaving nets for 
ourselves, yet we delight to throw them off; even as the merchant 
who prides himself on the well-fitted coat, the neat cravat, the spot- 
less gloves, the shining boots, in which he proceeds to his counting- 
house in the morning, enjoys with all his heart the pri^^lege of 
exchanging them for the easy douillette, soft sfippers, and general 
neglige of a quiet evening at home. Dress, and ceremony, and 
formal behavior seem necessary in the city — seem^ not are — for 
humanity is more truly dignified than convention, and more effective 
in every way ; — but in the woods we may follow nature — dress to be 
warm or to be easy, or to be picturesque, if we like, without shock- 
ing anybody. We have in town perhaps all the essentials of 
Hberty ; we are more alone and independent in a crowd than in a 
thinly settled neighborhood ; but in the country we have the smse 
of liberty ; the free breezes suggest it ; the wide expanse of pros- 
pect ; the unconstrained manners of those about us ; the undis- 



138 THE EVENING BOOK. 



guised prominence of the common matters of daily life — so carefully 
kept out of sight in om- anxious refinement ; all remind us and 
seem to us symbohcal of an ideal hberty. There are no fixed 
' business hours' or ' visiting hours ;' we may work all day if we 
hke, or we may make a call at seven in the morning ; and although 
we shall never care to do these particular things, it is yet pleasant 
to think we may do them. It is true, other people's • large liberty 
sometimes infringes a little on ours ; but after all, there is a vast 
surplus in our favor, since we have really more of it, with all chance 
deductions, than we know what to do with. The idea — the feehng 
— is the main thing. This is certainly the chief source of the fasci- 
nation of a wild western fife. 

The inspiring influence of progress is however veiy potent in its 
way. To see everything about you constantly improving, is delight- 
ful. There is an impression of young, joyous fife in such a state of 
society. As the breath and atmosphere of infancy is said to infuse 
new animal spirits into the sluggish veins of age, so the fresh move- 
ment of new-country life stirs the pulses of him who has long made 
part of a social system which claims to have discovered ererything 
and settled everything, and to be resting on the result of past eflfort. 
If it be happiness to have all one's faculties in constant and profita- 
ble use, the dweller in the woods should be happy, for every day 
brings new calls upon his powers ; upon his ingenuity, his industry 
his patience, his energy. Let him be ' many-sided' or even ' myriad- 
minded,' he will find use for all his faculties ; it is only one-sided 
people — of whom there are, alas ! so many — who find Bush-life 
intolerable. 

This calling out of one's powers certainly gives a new aspect to 
many things that would seem intolerable if we were so placed as to 
depend on the services of othei*s. There is something in human 



BUSH-LIFE. 139 



nature which glories in performance, be the matter ever so humble. 
"We might stand by in irrepressible impatience to see another bung- 
Hng at some expedient, which appears very tolerable when it is our 
own work, as we have seen a gentleman really vain-glorious of a 
garden-gate of his own manufacture, which he would have dis- 
charged a workman for making. We put a portion of our very 
selves into these rude specimens of our handiwork, and we love 
them with a most paternal affection as long as they last. Is not 
some of the ennui of life referable to a disregard of this hint of 
nature ? Would not something of the vapidity of which the spoiled 
children of refinement complain be remedied by the habit of doing 
something for ourselves — even if it were imperfectly done — instead 
of requiring the incessant intervention of servants and tradespeople ? 
It would perhaps not be easy to find a rich man who is odd enough 
to keep an amateur work-bench, or a lady bold enough to perform 
some of the lighter household duties, suffering from that disgust of 
life which is the torture of some of the idle. It is at least certain 
that dyspepsia is a complaint unknown in the woods ! 

The enjoyment of health is then another of the pleasant things of 
true rustic life. (We talk not of agues ! They must be caught and 
let go again — endured and forgotten — before one can know how 
truly healthy our western country and its out-dooi* habits are.) 
After one is acclimated, there is probably no more favorable climate 
for health and longevity in the temperate zones. No skies — not the 
boasted ones of Italy — are clearer ; their transparency is even 
remarked, not only by Englishmen, but by our own countrymen 
from the Atlantic shores. The stars and the aurora seem brighter 
there than elsewhere, and a long succession of brilliantly clear days 
is too common an occurrence to be noticed. This naturally contri- 
butes to good health and good spirits ; and if people have sense 



140 THE EVENING BOOK. 



enough to live with some attention to the laws of health, they may 
defy the druggist, and live till they drain existence to the lees, enjoy- 
ing the draught more and more as years mellow its flavor. 

Do our western population generally make as much of their 
health-privilege as they are sure to do of a ' water-privilege' ? 
Alas ! where ague kills its units, hot bread, hot meat, pickles, 
and strong tea — to say nothing of accm-sed whiskey — slay their 
tens of thousands. N'o people live so insanely as our western 
brethren ; in truth, nothing but the kind and genial chmate 
saves them from the complication of horrid ills which beset the 
gourmand in our old cities. Butter is considered rather more a 
necessary of life than bread ; in fact that which w^e call bread is 
almost unknown in some regions, hot cakes supplying its place at 
every meal. The " staff of hfe," however, is tea — strong, green tea. 
This is usually taken, unless poverty forbid, with breakfast, dinner, 
and supper, and without milk or sugar. With this is eaten fried 
meat, almost universally (we speak throughout exclusively of country 
habits), fried and swimming in fat. Infants partake of all these 
things ; and if they are teething and fretful, they often have a peeled 
cucumber given them to nibble, by way of quietus, which indeed it 
may be supposed admirably calculated to become. That many young 
children die is therefore less astonishing than that some live. Those 
who do survive probably owe their chance of future years' hot 
bread to their being allowed to creep about in the open air as soon 
as they are old enough to be out of the mother's arms. The fine 
climate does all it can for them, and it does everything for those 
who will accept its kind ministering. 

No inconsiderable variety and amusement are produced by the 
unfettered agency of nature and natural objects. Where the earth 
is hidden under piles of stone, nothing short of an earthquake can 



BUSH-LIFE. 141 



produce veiy striking occurrences of a natural kind ; but in tlie 
woods, hardly a day passes without something noticeable in earth, 
air, or water, or among their denizens. Tom Stiles, in felling a 
huge old oak, brings to light perhaps a hundred and fifty pounds 
of honey, which turns the whole neighborhood into a bee-hive for 
the nonce. John Nokes, mowing without boots, gets bitten by a 
rattlesnake, and a thrill of sympathy runs through the settlement. 
The road to his house is thronged with people from far and near, 
coming to urge remedies — all infallible — and to offer aid as nurses 
or watchers. Perhaps the musk-rats work so stealthily and so well 
that the mill-dam will be completely riddled or undermined, and 
the whole pond will run away in the night, leaving a huge scoop of 
long grass and stumps instead of the fair expanse of water which 
the setting sun dehghted to dye with crimson and purple. Then 
every hand that can be hired is in requisition, and everybody who 
is not hirable thinks it necessary to spend nearly the whole time in 
looking on, lamenting, suggesting, advising, and prognosticating. 
Now the great business of the young men and boys is setting traps 
for quails and pi-airie-hens, and again every fallow is bespread with 

nets to catch pigeons ; or perhaps Mr. A , after sitting up all 

night to watch for the fox that robs his henroost of late, comes very 

near shooting that ' loafer,' Sam B , who, though he will not 

work, unreasonably continues to eat, and of the fat of the land too. 
Or poor John Smith's stick chimney takes fire and burns his house 
and all that is in it, hardly excepting his wife and children. Then 
somebody must take wagon and horses and thread the whole region 
round about for aid in the shape of clothing, provisions, furniture' 
farming utensils and stock, to set him up again ; while the neighbors 
fall to chopping and notching logs for a new house, and finish, by 
having a famous raising and instalhng the sufferers in their rejuve- 



142 THE EVENING BOOK. 



nated domicile, with perhaps more of worldly goods than the fire 
found to consume, and hearts full of gi-atitude and joy. 

Do these things and all that they typify seem trifles ? Those 
whose hearts quake at the rise and fall of stocks should be ashamed 
to call them so. To the dweller in the woods they can never be 
trifles. And this brings us to what is perhaps after all the secret 
charm of a life far removed from pride and formahty — the feeling 
of brotherhood. There is in every human heart not totally sophis- 
ticated, a capacity for this ; but where men are crowded together in 
large cities, or subjected to the friction of keen and pitiless competi- 
tion, it is well-nigh obliterated. Where all that each man gains 
may be said in some sense to be so much abstracted from the com- 
mon stock, and where the brotherly feeling is not kept awake by 
any obvious dependence upon others, individuahsm and selfishness 
are too apt to prevail. But when, on the contrary, whatever each 
man does for his own profit is sure to turn to the advantage of all 
about him ; when the means of life and comfort are drawn directly 
fi'om the bounteous bosom of earth, not impoverishing, but 
enriching the source and fitting it the better to afford wealth 
to a coming generation ; when the circumstances of life are such 
that each man is obhged to be pei-sonally indebted to his neighbor 
for many of those offices which affect most nearly our business and 
bosom, while common toils compel contact and consultation, and the 
state of things is adverse to any separation by ceremony — all the 
bonds of life are drawn closer ; the heart is obliged to act, and the 
tone of manners becomes freer and more genial ; less poHte perhaps, 
but more humane ; and after some little experience of this, a return 
to the cold pohsh of city intercourse seems indeed a plunging into 
frigid impertinences,' — a descent from the free mountain air which 



BUSH-LIFE. 143 



braces every nerve to health and pleasm-e, to the calmer hut more 
stagnant atmosphere of the plain. 

The days of this fi-esh aspect of things are passing away. The 
influence of wealth and of facilitated intercourse will before very 
long produce a gi-eat equahzation of manners. The West has 
already tinged not a little, as we said before, the social intercourse 
of the East in our country. We adopt her humorous expressions 
and even her scorn of the cherished conventions of the Old World. 
To be ' manly' is more prized among us than to be ' elegant,' even 
while we are reaching after liveries and other antiquated remnants ^ 
of the pride of the dark ages. Our gentlemen print their cards 
with names ungraced by even the commonest title, leaving the ' Mr.' 
which used to be felt essential, to chiropodists and other pretendei-s. 
All this while the West is disposed to take up the pohtenesses we lay 
down, and her ambition is such that it will not be wonderful if she 
should in time devise some original ones of her own, so that to our 
descendants at no very remote distance, it may perhaps be hardly 
credible that the distinction between western manners and those of 
the older settled parts of the country was ever as great as it has 
really been up to our day. 

But it is a state of things worth remembering. In an age and, 
country where everything is doing, some things run the risk of being 
forgotten, for who can afford time for the ' slow' business of chroni- 
chng, in the very face of the lightning-flashes which are melting 
into one the Present, Past, and Future ? With so much to accom- 
phsh for ourselves, can we be expected to think of the coming age, 
whose wings already fan our faces ? When golden splendoi's are 
dawning, is it worth while to fix on the canvas, the sober hue of 
twihght ? 

For the sake of contrast, at least, let us preserve a clear recoUec- 



144 THE EVENING BOOK. 



tion of the great West in her dress of ' hoddin gray, ' bv way of 
aesthetic, not humiliating contrast ; as the rough disguise thrown 
off by the triumphant hero of the drama imparts new splendor to 
the robes he has been only veiling beneath it ; or, more nearly, as 
the sun, in his might, turns the bars of purple cloud which for awhile 
obscured his disk, into a glorious ladder for his ascent to the meri- 
dian. 



STREETS AND SERVANTS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 

I AM fond of streets. If I had the uncontrolled chaperonmg of 
an intelligent sight-seer, I should begin with the streets of a city, 
and thread them thoroughly before I sought out the accredited lions. 
Streets have a physiognomy, and very expressive it is. A stranger 
feels this directly. The impression is derived from many circum- 
stances, of course ; and these may all be sought out and specified ; 
but we shall none the less feel that the whole is typical ; and we 
shall find ourselves lonely or at home, sad or amused, according as 
we interpret the general aspect of a place which we visit for the fii'st 
time. 

It is not easy for a life-denizen to imagine how our goodly city 
of New York may strike a stranger ; but w^e are often assured by 
country friends that the air of bustle is almost terrific, and that the 
commercial roar produces a temporary deafness, very confusing to 
the new-comer. It is said, too, that our citizens cany their business 
in their faces more than is usual: so that those who come for 
amusement see at firet httle prospect of it, or at least httle hope of 
sympathy in it. Nothing is more common, therefore, than for 



146 THE EVENING BOOK. 



strangers to dislike New York at first ; vvliile nothing is more cer- 
tain than they will become very fond of it in a httle while. 

It is to be feared that the fii-st striking thing in the aspect of our city 
to a stranger must be unswept and jolting pavements. Sad ! to feel 
that we receive our friends with a dirty face and imseemly costume, 
and can hardly hope to do otherwise while our present civic maxims 
or no maxims prevail. Since ' politics' is given as the cause of this 
disgrace, it is no wonder that ill-natured people accuse us of ' dirty 
politics ;' but good-natured visiters tui-n their eyes and thoughts as 
quickly as possible to the substantial elegance of our buildings, and 
the richness and abundance of our merchandize, in the principal 
streets. Prosperity is the prevaihng expression; a life springing 
from deep fountains ; a grand flowering from golden roots ; a hope- 
ful reaching after more splendid successes ; it must be a poor per- 
ceptive faculty that does not feel the influence of these on first 
threading our broad thoroughfares. It is perhaps the very sense of 
all this that discourages some quiet and modest people who have 
been accustomed to take the world easy, and be content with its 
■humbler gifts and products. 

But we are not all hurry and bustle, brick and mortar, carts and 
omnibusses. Many a quiet, airy, smooth and comfortable spot may 
be found, where there is still a confession of the love ^ve all bear to 
gi*eeii fields and cool waters. Poor and inadequate as our parks 
confessedly are, it were ungTacious not to count them among the 
expressive points of the city. Let us walk in them and try to 
appreciate the delicious contrast between the fresh, inimitable works 
of God, and the ambitious poverty of man's doings ? Look at 
those Knng, waving trees, describing with every passing breeze all 
the hues of beauty, the dwelhngs of the bird and the bee, givei*s of 
cool shadows to the weary ; the very sight of them is pleasant to 



STREETS AND SERVANTS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 147 



the soul, bringing back soft memories of early days, when cost 
entered not into our estimate of the beautiful, and when the heart's 
avenues were open to every simple and natural enjoyment ; when 
the spring-time was a jubilee for us as well as for the birds and 
grasshoppers, because we had as httle thought for the morrow. 
Then the grass — a velvet that no earthly loom can imitate — how- 
grateful both to foot and eye — how its moisture tempers the burn- 
ing noon, and gives back the parting sunbeam — what a gloiy it 
receives from the contrast of the stony pathway, looking like fresh- 
hearted enthusiasm by the side of the hardness of the mere man of 
the world ! 

But as the crown of all — the parent and auxiliary of the trees 
and the grass — we must count among our blessings the Fountain — 
fit emblem of spontaneous and ungrudging goodness — gentle minis- 
ter of music and freshness — unconscious wearer of pearls inumerable, 
giving back rainbows to the sunbeams, and breaking into dimples 
beneath the shower. Here nature is indeed indebted to man ; here 
is an offset to the proud piles which would fain crush out her 
beauty, and banish her more common aspect from his costly haunts. 
In these silver showei*s — ascending like prayers, to return hke them 
in silent but hfe-giving dews — we make compensation for such 
shghting of the good gifts of the universal Mother. If we made 
as beneficial use of all the materials she so bountifully offers us, we 
might appropriate her smiles without self-reproach. 

Ignominiously as we treat the face of nature for our own selfish 
purposes, hiding it under stones as if it were not fit to be seen — 
how benignly she forgets it all, and smiles upon us wherever we 
will let her ? Not a crevice in the close-rammed flagging but shows 
a bright fringe of green after every shower ; not a vacant lot but 
dresses itself in beauty, though trodden only by chiffoniers and coal- 



1:48 THE EVENING BOOK. 



sifters, and used but by the children of vice and misery tor the surt- 
ing of their pickings and steaUngs. The boundless munificence — 
the bursting plenty of nature, seems never more striking than in 
these manifestations of productive power under every disadvantage. 

Speaking of the aspect our city must wear to the eye of a 
stranger, reminds me how little we know of it ourselves ; how we 
thread its avenues on our business and pleasure without a thought 
of what they are and what they mean — teeming with human life, 
human wants and woes, hopes and achievements. Our ceaseless 
habit of pui-suit forgets to take cognizance of all but itself Street 
pictures are for strangers only. We who are at home think of our 
great thoroughfares only as the means of access to somewhere else, 
while to eyes from abroad they are the reflex of ourselves. 

We must be allowed to flatter ourselves that they are very good- 
natured streets. Can anybody tell of harsh treatment to the way- 
farer who would makes inquiries as he walks — to the httle child in 
danger from the rush of carriages — to the beggar who sits plaintive 
by the way-side ? Accidents we have — too many ; they aie inci- 
dent to hurry ; but rude behavior is hardly known, certainly not 
characteristic. Let us hold fast by this ; it is better worth boasting 
of than some things of which we hear more. We are a sympathetic 
people, at worst. 

Few of our readers, perhaps, know anything of the aspect of 
summer morning in the city. It is worth getting up to see. I 
^o not speak of sunrise ; it may seem incredible to some, but it is 
really day a long time before the sun begins to set the east on fire 
with the far-spreading gold that forms so magnificent a back-ground 
for chimneys and steeples. And further, there are classes of people 
awake and astir hours before the sun, in order that all the breakfj^st 
delicacies may be ready for Miss Julia and her mnmmn, wIi'Mi they 



STREETS AND SERVANTS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 149 



choose to enhance the day by opening their eyes. One may know 
the hour on a clear warm morning, by the earhest rumble of grocers' 
and market-mens' carts. It is then three o'clock, as near as may 
be, and many of the wheels sound as if they were still very sleepy, 
while others dash along with desperate resolution, shaking the win- 
dows as they pass. After this earliest squad — this van-guard of 
the industrial army — has passed, there usually occurs a considerable 
interval. It seems at first hke silence, but after the ear vibration 
has subsided a httle, one becomes aware of the crowing of innu- 
merable cocks — public-spirited creatures, who do their best to arouse 
the lazy, and apparently nearly split their throats in the service. I 
have little doubt they steal a later nap now and then, after waking 
all the neighbors. I know several housewives who do this, as soon 
as they are sure every soul in the house is afoot. Hunt speaks of 
the pleasure of ' being in bed at your ease, united with the highest 
kind of advantage over the person that is up. ' It is a lordly thing/ 
lie says, ' to consider that others are up and nobly doing some duty 
or other, with sleepy eyes, while we ourselves are exquisitely shut- 
ting ours.' This is a kind of lordHness enjoyed by many during 
the morning hour, but I am by no means sure that they have the 
best of it. On the contrary, much observation of the getting-up 
class leads me to beheve, that in a fine flow of spirits to begin the 
day with, they have something of which to boast over those who 
are more intentionally luxurious. 

The earhest wheeler through the street after daylight is the milk- 
man, and of all he is the most joyous. Mark the air with which 
he clatters up to the kerb-stone, so close that the slope of the street 
gives his frail wagon the very last cant it will bear without upsetting 
his tall cans and the vehicle together. Then hear the cheery whoop 



150 



THE EVENING BOOK. 



■with whicli he calls out the sleepy damsel of the kitchen — ^not a 
plaintive semi-tone hke the charcoal-man's, 



:* 



:^ 



Char - coal ! Char - coal ! 

Dor a sad minor, hke the fruit-womans, nor the octave in which the 
anxious mother calls her truant boy, thus : 



::^E3: 



Jem - my ! 

but a wild, funny, unwriteable howl, expressive at once of haste, 
good-humor and good understanding with the cook, who is to pop 
up from the area. If she does not come at once — and she seldom 
does — liking 'lordliness' perhaps, as well as her lady — the jolly 
milk-man shouts once more, with the addition of ' wide awake !' or, 
* all alive now !' or ' come, my girl !' though this last is generally 
reserved till the papilloted head comes in sight. With the earlier 
milk-men this is all ; for there is something of a sobering effect in 
the cool morning air. But the later ones, warmed with the sun, 
and perhaps somewhat exhilarated by much whooping and the sight 
of a good many pretty faces, sometimes venture upon little tricks ; 
like one I witnessed lately. The girl was sweeping the side-walk 
when the cart drew up, and she dropt her broom and ran in for the 
pitcher. The moment her back was turned, the milk-man jumped 
out of his cart, seized the broom, hid it behind a tree, and was in 
his seat again in an instant, looking laboriously unconscious. When 
the damsel came with the pitcher, she glanced round after her 
broom, but said nothing ; but, while the milk was lading out, slyly 



STREETS AND SERVANTS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 151 



stole the whip from the station where it hung jauntily outward, and 
put it behind her back unobserved. The milk-man handed her the 
pitcher before he perceived the theft, but it was only an instant. 
And then such a leap, such a flight, such a laugh, such a spilling ! 

After the milk-man comes the baker — grave and sometimes 
crusty, for he has been up a httle too long. The oven-heat of his 
home, too, has something unnatural and exsiccating about it. Your 
baker has his face ploughed in wrinkles, from the sohcitude with 
which he watches the operation of his leaven ; or he is tired with 
working the cracker-machine. At any rate he is usually of the 
soberest, especially when flour is low, for then he knows people will 
expect large loaves ; while in times of scarcity he may make them 
unhmitedly small, pleading the necessity of the case. He is always 
slow to beheve in the fluctuation of prices downward, but timid and 
easily alarmed when quotations add a shilling to the barrel. He is 
interested too in the price of potatoes, and they do say in that of 
certain mineral substances ; but for particulai's we must refer the 
reader to " Accum on Cuhnary Poisons." 

All this time, ash-carts, dirt-carts, grocers' carts and empty carts 
have been rumbling along, making such a noise that one can scarcely 
hear one's-self think. The sun has risen above the chimneys, and 
the rain of yesterday glitters on the oriental-looking boughs of the 
ailanthus-trees, as the hght breeze makes them tremble. Two for- 
lorn rag-pickers have already made a minute search through the 
neighborhood, especially in a vacant lot at the corner — a sort of 
Golgotha, where every body throws every thing that has no par- 
ticulai' destination, and some things that have — coal-ashes for 
instance, which rise there in mounds that threaten to rival the (I 
forget its name) Hill in Rome, whose foundation is pot-sherds. The 
golden sun now glorifies all, however, even the place of rubbish and 



152 THE EVENING BOOK. 



stramonium, and makes the long rows of windows in street 

blaze with splendor. The birds, whose twittering song passed 
unnoticed during our observation of the carts, now seem newly 
wakened, and fill the air with rural-ish sounds — not quite rural, for 
one wonders where they hve — in what smoke-dried and dust- 
clogged evergreens and altheas — for, if they dared build in the street 
trees, their twitter would be short. Oh ! the grape-vines with 
which the yards in the upper part of the city abound, afford them 
fine shelter, doubtless, with the aid of the few fruit trees that still 
hide their diminished heads, or hang them over the neighbors' fences 
low-spiritedly. Much of the singing, at this later hour, must be from 
the canaries and other caged birds that begin to show at the open 
windows, ' striving which can, in most dainty variety, recount their 
wrong-caused sorrow.' 

The ice-men, chilled, perhaps, by associations belonging to their 
craft, do not make demonstrations as early as others. Indeed, it is but 
now and then a phenix among them that gives you your ice in time 
for breakfast. But when they do come they have a hurrying, jolly 
air, that is very pleasant. They spring out, milkmanishly, chnking 
the great dangerous-looking tongs, and, grabbing the destined lump 
with a decided air, make it swing from side to side. But look into 
the cart. What more than grotto-like coolness ! One can scarcely 
believe that those enormous blocks are ' soon to shde into a stream 
again,' or that now, rocky as they are, one could spUt them with a 
pin. It must be confessed that, ungainly thing as an ice-cart is, 
with its straight, poking, green body, there is none, of all that pass 
on a hot morning like this, whose rumble is so musical. 

The fruit-woman are all this time chanticleer! ng along, with ever 
a sad tone in their screeching. It may be fancy, but I can always 
hear in that cry a complaint of some sort. ' I hardly know how to 



STREETS AND SERVANTS AT HOME AND ABROAD. I53 



interpret it. Perhaps it bespeaks only a less hopefull nature tlian 
animates the gay milkman. Or it may relate to the uncertainty 
attached to selling so perishable an article as fruit ; or to the remem- 
brance of domestic aiFaii-s suffering at home, while the mother tries 
to gain a few pence by toiling through the street, hour after hour. 
Here is a case where one may reasonably wish one's toil to be fruit- 
less ; but the poor woman cannot console herself with quibbles. 
There goes one who has a chubby daughter with her — one w^alking 
on one side of the street and the other opposite — both screaming, 
but alternately, and with a pretty variance. This is not so melan- 
choly ; for misery even on a small scale, loves company. 

That stout Irishman, lazily pushing the pine-apple cart, is a con- 
trast to the anxious fruit-w^oman. His fac-e expresses, to be sure 
great discontent that the world does not better appreciate the merits 
of a son of Erin than to allow him to work such hot weather ; but 
his setting-forth of his wares has a funny sound, and seems to defy 
fate. I should like him better, as a fruit-seller, if he had some in- 
firmity (besides whiskey), for it seems hard that able-bodied men 
should usurp the few chances that feeble people and women have 
for getting bread. 

The sweet song of the chimney-sweep is comparatively rare in 
these anthracite days. But w^hat music the dark-skinned people, 
who enjoy this profession by j^rescription, can make. There is one 
who passes my door sometimes with an Italian recitative in the 
softest tenor voice, yet filhng the air with a volume of sound. If 
nature had but blanched him he could make his fortune on the stage. 
As it is they would not let him sing even. Otello. 

We put the colored man into funny attempts at livery sometimes 
— (American hveries !) and even, for certain purposes, in uniform ; 
thus allowing him to stand as a representative of the two things we 
7* 



154 THE EVENING BOOK. 



are said to love best — ^wealth and militaiy display. In whatever 
character he appears, he is always a picturesque, and, to unpreju- 
diced eyes, an agreeable part of our street panorama. He is so 
cheerful by nature that even oppression cannot sadden him, and so 
genial and good-natured that the worst training and the most dis- 
couraging circumstances fail to make him morose. I have been 
inclined to fancy, at times, that the hatred expressed towards the 
race by persons of certain temperament, was only resentment at their 
good humor and patience. We do not like to see people so much 
better able to make use of whatever of earthly good Providence 
allows than ourselves. The disposition to enjoy is Heaven's blessing 
to the poor colored man, and it gives a hght to his quaint face 
hardly ever extinguished, even by hopeless toil and compulsory 
degradation. 

If prosperity be the expression of New York streets, pride seems 
to me that of the great thoroughfares of London, even where com- 
merce reigns. Our streets suggest the Future, those of London the 
Past. London feels that that she has attained, and there is a calm- 
ness even in her bustle. The compulsive Anglo-Saxon element 
reduces even foreign things and faces in London to a certain uniform- 
ity with things and faces English. Consciousness of England is 
wi'itten all over everything and everybody. The Greatness of the 
land is a Presence from which none can escape. In Paris one may 
feel like a citizen of the world, and as if he had as much right in 
the Boulevart and the Champs Elysees as any one ; in London he is 
always conscious of being a ' foreigner,' and only on suftrance. This 
accounts for the dislike of London so commonly expressed by 
Americans, who are notoriously fond of Paris. It touches an 
American in the tenderest point to be made to feel that his absence 



STREETS AND SERVANTS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 155 



would be at least as agreeable as his company, and this he always 
feels in England — in London particularly. 

The streets of London are London more truly and peculiarly than 
the galleries of Art, the showplaces, or even the cathedrals, — for it 
is in the streets that we see the people, with their faces full of every- 
day expression ; all the marks of national bent and habit displayed ; 
the eagerness of gain, the lassitude of pleasure, the consciousness 
of vice, the despair of poverty. Wealth is more full}^ shown in the 
street than in the drawing-room, for the splendors of a night may 
be hired, but the grandeur and exquisiteness of an equipage can 
hardly fail, to an instructed eye, to represent truly the fortune and 
habits of its possessor. English carriages and horses are confessedly 
the most elegant and perfect in the world, and these abound at 
certain hours in the West-End streets. It is in these that the most 
striking difference exists,' to the traveller's eye between London 
streets and those of our cities. One is ready to conclude that half 
the people in London have carriages of their own. 

But the countenance and manner of the passers on foot are not 
more hke those we meet at home than the equipages. The Enghsh 
are a more natural-mannered, and of course a more individual 
people, than we ; and they are therefore better worth looking at in 
the street. Far from wearing a street face, — a conventional counte- 
nance, which makes palpable reference to the fashion and to the 
opinion of the passers-by, one has the impression that English peo- 
ple look as they feel, or at least just as they have a mind to look. 
They do not stare at those they meet ; they hardly seem to see you. 
There is no rapid, anxious perusal of your dress in passing. Nobody 
but the pohceman at the corner ever looks you full in the face, as if 
he meant to know you again. Except in the Strand, and other 
exclusively business-streets, nobody seems in a hurry ; and even in 



156 THE EVENING BOOK. 



those crowded thoroughfares there are quite enough leisurely-looking 
people to remind you that not everybody works, in England. Driv- 
ing and walking are both necessarily slow, because of the throng ; 
and if any unexpected detention occur, people do not immediately 
become frantic, as with us. Gentlemen's servants, in undress liveries, 
are seen mounted on fine horses, going errands at a very moderate 
pace, scarce seeming to see the busy faces on either side, but looking 
sedulously languid and abstracted, as if they were thinking of Hyde 
Park or St. James's Street, or other leo-ions far removed from vulo^ar 
toil and bustle. Now and then a gentleman on horseback, followed 
closely by a servant in drab tights and gaiters v/ith a cockaded hat, 
threads his quiet way towards the Bank, his very eye telling you 
that he is going only to draw money, not to earn or make it. Now 
a great, open, family carriage, with mamma and governess and some 
neatly dressed children, stops before a book or toy-shop, and the 
footman makes journeys back and forth, and anxious shopmen pass 
in and out, while the occupants of the carriage wear the air of the 
most enviable tranquility, till the last article is offered and approved ; 
and the footman, with a slight sign of the hand to the coachman, 
jumps to his place, and the perfect equipage rolls onward as if, like 
heaven's gates, " on golden hinges turning." But the most nume- 
rous vehicles are one-horse cabs, which are used by all ranks, the 
hackney ones hired at very cheap rates, and private ones very neat 
but plain, and popular with those who can do as they like, and like 
to be comfortable rather than splendid. London streets set us 
an example in this respect which it would be well to consider. 

When we explore the West End, with its parks, its palaces, its 
magnificent breadths and still more magnificent quietude, we are as 
much oppressed with the weight of centuries as at Thebes or 
Kariiak. 



STREETS AND SERVANTS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 157 



The sense of liow long it must have taken to bring these things 
to their present j^ass, adds an element of subhmity to the actual 
impression. Every house is so jealously guarded from intrusive 
eyes, that any thought of neighborhood or community is precluded. 
Doors are attempted only by servants, for no bevies of ladies 
are ever seen making morning calls on foot, as with us. Servants 
and horses are the only living creatures that move on the pavement, 
if we except iHe mechanics and tradespeople required by those 
oyster-hke residences. The air is full of silence, rendered all the 
deeper by the distant roar of the peopled city, or made striking by 
the occasional clatter of hoofs and wheels. There is no hint of 
common life at those aristocratic doors. Now and then a footman 
lingere a httle for a chat with a pied brother, or takes a look up and 
down the street before he makes all fast again ; but when he 
goes in, it is with the air of Robinson Crusoe retreating into 
his fortress and drawing the ladder up after him. 

The question has sometimes occurred to me, why is a hvery- 
servant in London so different an object from a livery-servant in 
New York ? In London, servants in liver}" are an appropriate and 
rather fascinating part of the street panorama. I speak now of 
everyday liveries, — those which simply mark the condition of 
the wearer, and indicate to the initiated the distinguished family in 
whose service he is. State-liveries are quite another affair, — the 
most horrid caricatures of human costume ; mere grotesque 
disguises in the worst taste ; the last contortion of ingenious pride ; 
as silly as the whim of a certain exquisite to personate a game-cock 
at a masquerade, with the additional " features" of clapping 
his wings and crowing. My Anglo-Saxon blood boils at the 
sight of Enghshmen degraded enough to be proud of such disguises. 
Yet it is not w^orth while to consider the wearers as men, while they 



158 THE EVENING BOOK. 



cany about these strange shells of lace and frij^pery: — they are 
machines ; parts of a system ; they have for the time no souls of 
their own ; they are bought and sold, in effect, by virtue of a 
contract, signed with the vital current of their minds, to the demon 
of this world, the deadly antagonist of the spirit of health and of a 
sound mind. The maximum of intelligence to be found under 
those liveries is not sufficient to build a shanty in the Western wilds 
and provide bread and salt for its inmates. Yet beings of this 
grade — as necessary to an aristocracy as dukes and earls — fare 
sumptuously every day ; are full of secondhand haughtiness ; practise 
the worst vices of their employers, and look down with contempt 
upon the honest tradesman who works for his hving. 

I do not mean to say that they are of a different class from the 
men who ornament London streets in ordinary liveries, for they are 
one and the same ; but only that, as showing up the thing in 
its true character by exhibiting it carried out to extremes, they 
suggest deeper and more unpleasing thoughts. English livery- 
servants in their everyday costume, unlike their continental brethren, 
are rather gentlemanly as well as picturesque-looking men. I do 
not mean exactly gentlemanly hke the gentleman of to-day in 
society ; but with an old-fashioned tinge, like the genteel men in 
* genteel comedy.' There is an air of antiquity about them, so that 
you cannot help, even in the common street, feehng as if they 
belonged to a past age, and were only walking about in a sort of 
ghostly dream on the pave of to-day. They are tall and well 
made, and somewhat pale and dehcate in complexion, owing to late 
hours and unwholesome habits ; their manners are languid and 
indifferent, — a trick caught from their employei-s, who depend on it 
for much styhsh effect. Mrs. Browning hits off the studied outside 
of the masters well, in her poem of " Lady Geraldine's Courtship :" 



STREETS AND SERVANTS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 159 



" Very finely courteous, — far too proud to doubt his domination 
Of the common people, he atones for grandeur by a bow. 

High, straight forehead ; nose of eagle ; cold blue eyes, of less expression 
Than resistance ; coldly casting off the looks of other men 
As steel, arrows ; unelastic lips, which seem to taste possession^ 
And be cautious lest the common air should injure or distain." 

It is not wonderful that a footman should reflect that which most 
distinguishes his master from the commonaltyj for the quahty 
which makes him rather be a footman than a blacksmith disposes 
him to instinctive, indolent imitation. Effeminacy is essentially imi- 
tative, having no energies to expend upon originating. The master's 
proudly quiet manners may tacitly refer to the history of a past age, 
or to a consciousness of the wealth that can buy everything but his- 
tory ; but the servant is only a mirror, with nothing better or deeper 
than a board to back it ; giving the image, but knowing nothing of 
the soul of what it reflects. 

It would be a curious thing to find out how large the mental 
horizon of a regular footman really is. To us he seems less than the 
ninth part of a man. He who " sits a' day prickin' at a clout, hke a 
lassie," has a house of his own, though it be a poor one ; he orders 
his own dinner, though potatoes be the only dish ; his wife and 
children look up to him with a distinct notion of the place he holds 
in creation, as being husband (house-band) and father, and holding 
a recognized position in society. But a footman has no separate 
entity ; he is an appendage, a complement, part of another man's 
equipage, like a horse or dog, and of just equal importance; a 
paltry, gilt frame to an exquisite picture ; the padding of a court 
coat on which are embroidered grand badges of honor ; a piece of 
the soft carpet (only the upper side cared for) on which fortunate 
men walk daintily up to consideration and higher fortune. He is 



160 THE EVENING BOOK. 



the band of no Louse ; if he have children, they are not brought up 
in his sight. He has no citizenship, for his interest is merged in 
that of his master ; if he think of pubhc affairs, it is hke a dunce ; 
if he talk of them, it is like a parrot. His notion of a legislator Ig 
of a gentleman who goes to " the 'Ouse" every evening for a certain 
number of weeks, is asked out to dinner and gives dinners in return, 
and in September runs down into the country for the shooting sea- 
son. He is well versed in the politics of the servants' hall ; stands 
up manfully against cold meat, and is " above 'peaching" on the 
butler's peccadilloes, so long as that official furnishes ale of a proper 
strength ; but beyond these points he is " in wandering mazes lost," 
— incapacitated even for wishing, with regard to public affairs. 

It would be one of the most curious shows imaginable, to see a 
thorough-bred footman, and a vivid, untamed backwoodsman, face 
to face on a Western prairie. The wild man would look upon his 
hveried brother with a wonder tinged with pity and contempt. He 
\ would probably think at fii"st that the strange object must be "some 
j play-actoring fellow," or a stray member of the caravan whose show- 
bills decorated the village when he last carried wheat to market ; 
while the poor travestied Anglo-Saxon from the old world would 
gaze with timid eye on the rough-rinded farmer, brown and knotty 
as one of his own oaks, and secretly conclude him a representative 
of the cruel aborigines, but one remove from the scalpers and toma- 
hawkers of whom he had dimly heard through Canadian emigrants. 
Let these two far-divided brethren be compelled to pass the day 
together ; — the one about his daily business, the other as an inquirer 
into the habits of the country and the means of obtaining a liveli- 
hood. How could their minds approach each other ? How bridge 
over the immense chasms that lie between the life-maxims of a 
Western freeman and those of a London footman ? How find wordf 



STREETS AND SERVANTS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 161 



significant to both of the same idea ? In the footman's mind, " nice 
people" are people that keep their own carriage, while the Western 
man applies that term chiefly to neighboi-s who are willing to lend 
everything they have, and never ask to have anything returned. 
The Londoner, if he ever happened to have heard the old-fashioned 
word " hospitality," would understand by it giving splendid dinners, 
or filling one's country-house with gay company at Christmas ; while 
our prairie friend would intend no less than accommodating a neigh- 
bor with a night's lodging though the only spare bed were in your 
sitting-room, where father, mother and children were already pro- 
vided for ; or taking in for a few weeks a forlorn family of Irish emi- 
grants, half of them sick with the ague, and none of them possessed 
of a dollar wherewith to help themselves. If the farmer was in high 
spirits and inclined to boast of " success," what would the exotic 
from Piccadilly think when he was introduced to a rough and bare 
log cabin, standing in the midst of fields disfigured by stumps, and 
only half fenced ; — the wife, worn with toil, nursing her baby and 
churning at the same time ; the eldest daughter washing the dishes, 
and the httle boy cutting his toes instead of splitting kindhng-wood, as 
he had been attempting to do ? We can fancy just how the unhappy 
lackey would look and feel,, if he were forced to begin life anew in 
such circumstances; but we can well believe, nevertheless, that 
though it might require many a hard rub to get the nonsense out 
of him, yet in the end his good blood would triumph, and he would 
learn to be a man among men, and look back to his days of 
" flunkeyhood" with a perfect loathing. 

It is only just, after this fancy sketch, to imagine our hero of the axe 
bewitched into the neighborhood of Belgrave Square or Park Lane, 
and required to fill the forsaken shoes of the individual whom we 
have just seen adopted by the forest. But the picture cannot possi- 



162 THE EVENING BOOK. 



bly be a true match to the other, for the simple reason that no 
earthly power, to say nothing stronger, could ever force the back- 
woodsman into the Hvery of which his Enghsh brother was once 
proud. And how about the powdered head, of which we have as 
yet said nothing ? Could a farmer ever consent to such impiety as 
the use of wheat — wheat ! his grand staple — his daily thought and 
nightly dream — his synonyme for plenty — the ladder of his hopes — 
we had almost said the god of his idolatry — as an adjunct to the 
larded locks of a stander behind other men's chaii-s ? We can fancy 
some kitchen friseur attempting to turn his black ' fell of hair' pie- 
bald by the appHcation of distinct patches of white flour, according 
to the approved standard of Belgravia ; but we see also the potent 
fists of the neophyte going round like steam-paddles in resistance ; 
and we should portend woe to the unhappy artist if he carried the 
joke too far. Next we stick a very tall cane into Jonathan's hand, 
and order him to mount the foot-board and hold on for his Ufe, 
ready nevertheless to jump down and oiFer a gentle elbow to his 
mistress, when she alights to cheapen a pair of tweezei*s at Strud- 
wick's, or to try a court dress at Miss Mortimer's. Or we place him 
on a landing, in the midst of tropical plants and very classical 
statues, to call names for several hours — not according to the 
thoughts that would arise in his heart, but according to the Red 
Book; — 'Lady Nims!' 'The Right Honorable Henry Algernon 
Gulliver !' and so on, while a shoulder-knotted brother at the head 
of the stairs echoes him hke a mocking-bird, and the gentleman 
usher at the drawing-room door repeats the story. Would our 
green one call this an easy mode of getting his hving ? Or would 
he long for his plough, his harrow, and his heavy boots ; his supper- 
table, covered with hot bread and fried pork ; and the privilege of 



STREETS AND SERVANTS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 163 



voting at elections, and being himself elected path-master or con- 
stable ? 

I must not, however, hypociitically pretend that I am alto- 
gether of our rustic neighbor's mind and impulses in this matter. 
All my Americanism does not prevent me from perceiving and con- . 
fessing that hvery-servants are a very fascinating and graceful acces- 
sory to grandeur. The grandeur once accepted as right and proper, 
liveries are quite in keeping, and hvery-servants the most splendid 
of human chattels. Those who have never seen this class of 
movables, may picture to themselves a number of well-looking men 
in militia uniforms, in attendance upon ladies and gentlemen and 
horses ; elegantly dressed, and sedulously ignoring the existence of 
any other kind of people and any other business in life. This 
makes, of coui-se, a display of magnificence which is enhanced by a 
touch of mystery, since both servants and masters affect to belong 
to a world entirely unconnected with our everyday one, (though we 
need not say they bear no particular marks of affinity with that 
which we are in the habit of designating as a 'better' world.) 
Liveries are quite as various, as gay, and as ridiculous as the uni- 
forms of any of our city volunteers. A sky-blue coat, yellow waist- 
coat, and scarlet breeches, would be thought no unsuitable conjunc- 
tion as a mark of servitude ; and, in point of fact, liveries in this 
taste are often chosen by parties in whose estimation ' quietness' is 
the one crowning grace of human costume. There is refinement of 
cruelty in this, or rather refinement of haughtiness, for your true 
footman-soul believes itself inferior, and is prompted to no cutting 
comparisons. The feehng of caste is so sincere and operative in 
England, that it not only influences the whole moral life of the 
country, but extends beyond the grave, apparently without a mis- 
giving on the part of master or servant. How many a tomb-stone 



164 THE EVENING BOOK. 



bears such an inscription as this : ' Erected by Marmaduke Mil- 

LiNGTON, of B , in the county of , Esquire, in memory of 

the humble virtues of John Stubbs, for thirty yeai-s a faithful ser- 
vant in his family.' One's mind passes spontaneously from such an 
epitaph to the appearance of the great man and the httle man side 
by side before a bar where no hveries are recognized, and where the 
very same \irtues, not a different set, are exacted from servant and 
master. But it will not do for us to follow the subject into its most 
serious recesses. 

EngUsh haughtiness differs from American haughtiness in being 
sincere, and this brings us back to the thought with which we be- 
gan — the different effect, picturesque as well as moral, — between 
English and American hveries. The sincerity of haughtiness is im- 
pious, the imitation or affectation of it more simply ridiculous, so 
that we should gain nothing by being honest in this matter. But 
is it not mortifying that Americans can weakly sell their birthright 
for a price too contemptible for valuation ? We look down upon 
people who, hoping to seem what they are not, condescend to wear 
false jewelry and other mockeries of the rich ; but what paste dia- 
mond or glass ruby is meaner than pretences at hvery in the estab- 
lishments of people of yesterday? The only grandeur at which 
American society can aim with honor, is that of a bold and true 
simplicity of manners ; courage which dares to live out its natural 
and staple ideas ; independence founded on conscious power and 
worth, which can afford to be original in small things as in great 
ones. The moment we forget this, and seek to mimic, at an 
i-mmeasurable distance, the feudal tricks of decaying aristocracy, we 
renounce our real, undeniable claims, and get absolutely nothing in 
return. We condescend to imitation wjiere equality is impossible, 
and confess a longing which Providence has, at our own desire, put 



STREETS AND SERVANTS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 165 



it out of our power to gratify. From so humiliating a position may 
all true descendants of our patriot sires be preserved ! 

There is but one way in which hveries can be made true badges of 
American nobihty : this is by making them expressive of the origin of i 
the famihes they are intended to dignify. The glory of our society is, 
that the highest spring from the humblest — and it should, therefore, 
be the aim of an enlightened pride to express this great fact — never j 
generally operative in any other country known to history — in ' 
whatever public manifestations of present prosperity we see fit to 
adopt. If there is anything of which we may be excusably vain- 
glorious, it is that the son of the humblest mechanic may and does 
acquire, by worth and talent, not only wealth, but position and influ- 
ence : while mere riches, though they command a certain considera- 
tion from the esprit de corps of the rich, and some servihty from 
the meanness of the needy, do absolutely nothing towards securing 
pubhc respect or esteem. Let us then, if we long for aristocratic 
distinctions, boldly seize those which belong to us. If few of us 
can trace back to gentlemen who, when they coveted a neighbor's 
property, stabbed him and took it, we can claim a far more honor- 
able descent from honest farmers and carpenters, tailors and hatters. 
Surely he who tills the ground in the fear of God is a better man 
than he who soaks it with blood for his own selfish ends — he who 
builds his house honestly, than he who wrenches it from another 
by the strong hand. We may say to the feudal system and all that 
belongs to it : ' Oh, thou enemy ! destructions ai-e come to a perpe- 
tual end.' The spirit of to-day is constructive ; and, if we use the 
ruins of the past, it must be to build a new plain. Why not, then, 
devise badges of our true honor ? American liveries would so be 
grand, indeed. Alas, that those who adopt something so called 
should so often be found ashamed of their honest sfrandfathei-s ! 



166 • THE EVENING BOOK. 



The grandfathers doubtless return the comphment if they take cog- 
nizance of such matters. 

I have seen as yet no attempt in our country to estabhsh dis- 
tinguishing marks of female servitude ; but there seems to be no 
good reason why we should not humbly imitate England in this, as 
well as in putting collars and handcufis on the men who drive our 
carriages or stand behind them. A woman-servant in England is 
considered insolent if she appear without a cap ; and, in addition 
to this, her employers claim the right to enforce sumptuary regula- 
tions as to her general costume. It must indicate her station unmis- 
takeably ; and the slightest direct attempt' at imitating those above 
her would be deemed insubordinate and ominous of evil. A silk 
gown would be ' flat burglary' in any servant below the rank of 
housekeeper. I ought to except the governess; who, though 
considered merely as an upper though peculiarly vexatious and try- 
ing servant, in most English families, is not restricted in the choice 
of her costume, except by the smallness of her salary. Shall we 
carry our aping throughout consistently ? Shall we insist on caps, 
frown on silk dresses, and treat the instructors of our children as 
inferiors — thus doing our best to make them such ? 

So small a proportion of those who get their bread by domestic ser- 
vice in this country are Americans, _that we need hardly considei 
how outward badges of servitude would sit upon the native 
American, or how they might in time aflect his character. The 
very name of servant is a yoke too heavy for his pride. He is will- 
ing to perform a thousand menial offices under any other name ; 
call him your friend, and he will act as your slave ; call him your 
servant, and he will soon show you that he is his own master. He 
has not the least objection to the things to be done, but only to the 
position he must occu})y in doing them ; so that while no money 



STREETS AND SERVANTS AT HOME AND ABROAD. 167 



could hire him to put on a gay dress of your choosing, and stand 
idle in your entry, he will build stone fence for you, or risk his hfe \ 
on your roof, with no thought that he lowei-s himself by peiforming 
labor for your benefit. Work is his glory, servitude his detestation ; 
there it not the least danger that he will ever, even for the sake of 
the ' almighty dollar,' become a Hvery servant ; though he may so 
far forget himself as to keep one. His transgression of the demo- 1 
cratic (or gospel) principle will never take that form. Our protest- 
against American liveries regards employers only. 

In view of this national feeling against domestic servitude — for 
the national objection is awakened far short of liveries — some peo- 
ple are a good deal concerned as to what we shall do for servants 
after the overflow of nations still subject to feudal ideas shall have 
ceased, and those who are now hewei-s of wood and drawers of 
water in tolerable contentment, shall have become thoroughly 
Americanized in feehng, and at the same time possessed of comfort- 
able American homes of their own. This would be a very sad 
state of things indeed ! That there should be no class of people 
poor enough to consent to live in our kitchens, and work for us 
instead of for themselves, would be ' most tolerable and not to be 
borne !' It cannot be that Providence means to deal so hardly 
with us, as to diffuse the advantages we prize so highly over the 
entire body of our citizens. Lord Lyttleton's Flavia says : — 



Where none admire, 'tis useless to excel ! 
Where none are beaux, 'tis vain to be a belle !' 



So may we exclaim- 



* Without the poor, what joys could wealth afford ! 
Without a servant, who would be a lord !' 



168 THE EVENING BOOK. 



The sense of contrast gives the zest to our advantages. I^obody 
ever makes a show in a desert ; where admirers are lacking we con- 
tent ourselves with substantial. A truly republican plainness of 

!' living would probably be the deplorable result of this hardly sup- 
posable state of things. But, without fearing anything so remote, 

I would it not be prudent to pro\dde, in some measure, against the 
possible evils of universal prosperity ? Perhaps if we could make 
up our minds to treat our servants as fellow citizens now, the time 
when they would be disposed to shake off our service might be 
deferred. If we could refrain from enforcing caste in our treatment 
of our domestics ; if we could engage the services of a cook as v^e 
do those of a shoemaker or a mason, i. e. without assumption on 
one side, or a hollow servihty on the other, cooking might become 
a recognized trade, and our tables be well supplied, even after star- 
vation no longer threatened a concocter of plum-puddings who 
should insist upon being ' as good as anybody !' Would it be dan- 
gerous to recognize the soul of a chambermaid ? Would it not 
rather be apt to make her a better one, and longer content with the 
broom and duster, if we consulted her feelings, expressed an interest 
in her welfare, and saved her pride as much as possible ? At pre- 
sent, it seems to be supposed that in the agreement as to wages, a 
certain amount of contumely is bargained for — not loud, indeed, but 
deep — not in words so much as in thoughts, and in the actions that 
flow unconsciously from thoughts. While this is the case, we can- 
not have American servants, and we ought not to have them. Our 
countrymen and countrywomen can do better ; and so they forsake a 
business which ought to be as comfortable and lucrative as any 
other which demands the same grade of ability, and leave us to be 
half-served by people whose lack of both principle and capacity is 
too often the very reason why they are willing to be servants. The 



STREETS AND SERVANTS AT HO MR AND ABROAD. 169 

consequence is, unspeakable wear and tear of temper, and all sorts 
of loss and mismanagement in our kitchens ; corrupting examples 
for our children, and temptation to inhuman prejudice in ourselves. 
If we do not learn to consider our servants as human, beings, they 1 
will certainly teach us that they are so ; and enforced claims are as 
mortifying as voluntary concessions are graceful. The English treat 
their servants far better, with regard to the national ideas, than we 
do ours, considering our profession of democratic principle. We I 
shall be forced, soonei- or later, to harmonize more nearly our politi- I 
cal theory and our social practice ; and it will undoubtedly be dis- 
covered, in time, that, the only key to this difficulty, as to others 
growing out of our noble theoiy of life, is to be found in the gospel 
of Christ. 



THE LOG SCHOOLHOUSE. 

It has been justly objected, with regard to the public idea of the 
means of hteraiy culture in our country, that we are too fond of 
building our colleges of brick and stone, instead of laying their more 
solid foundations in professors and students. We certainly do 
practically give our assent to the vulgar notion that showy buildings 
are of the first importance in our seminaries of learning, able 
teachers only of the second. Funds that would bring talent from 
another hemisphere, or call it into action within our own borders, are 
often buried in monstrous fabrics which wait useless for years until 
new means can be raised for filhng them with the teachers and 
pupils who are their ultimate object ; and State pride is strangely 
gratified by gazing at these memorials of one of the many blunders 
of our materialism. 

But there is a class of educational edifices to which no such 
objection can be made. The log schoolhouse in the deep woods is 
a far nobler proof of intellectual aspiration than any huge empty 
college building of them all. Its grotesque outline has, for the eye 
of the thoughtful patriot, a grace that mere columns and arches can 
never give — the grace of earnestness, of a purpose truly lofty in its 
seeming humihty. A log schoolhouse is the veritable tom])le of 



THE LOG SCHOOLHOUSE. iVl 



learning and religion, without the remotest idea of paltry orna- 
ment ; devoted, in naked simplicity, to an idea which is its 
consecration and its beauty. ' Do the people need place to pray, 
and calls to hear His word ?' says Ruskin, in that delightful book 
of his,^ 'then it is no time for smoothing pillars or carving 
pulpits ; let us first have enough of walls and roofs' — and no doubt 
a truer dignity attends the roughest erection that has a truly high 
purpose, than can be expressed in the richest material and the most 
elaborate forms that mere pride and vanity can compiiss or devise. 

And this is not mere empty talk or sesthetic di'eaming. The 
higher and more perfect the cultivation of mind and taste which the 
American traveller carries with him into the western country, 
the more of true and touching beauty will he see in the log school- 
house that greets him, in some little unexpected clearing, as he takes 
his sohtary way through the forest. He has passed, it may be, 
many a noble farm, with its fenced fields and ample barns, its 
woodlands resounding with the axe, and its chambers vocal with the 
spinning-wheel ; he has seen the owner amid his laborers, sharing or 
directing their profitable toil ; he has sat at hospitable boards, 
spread with the luxury of rural comfort thus provided, and inspected 
mills and factories, promising as Cahfornian rivers ; but all this had 
reference only to the material and the perishable. This was only 
the body whereof that uncouth log schoolhouse typifies the soul. 
The soul can do without the body, but the body becomes a 
loathsome mass without the soul. Indeed all this smiling plenty, 
this warm industry, this breathing quiet, is the fruit of the log 
schoolhouse, for did not pubhc spirit, general intelligence and piety 
emanate from that humble source ? 

I will not say that as soon as the settler has a roof over his head 

*The Seven Lamps of Architecture. 



172 THE EVENING BOOK. 



he thinks of a schoolhouse in which pubhc meetings may be held, 
for in truth he ascertains the probabihty of such a building before 
he selects a site for his homestead. As soon as a tree is felled, 
a schoolhouse is thought of, and the whole neighborhood are 
at once, and for once, of one accord in erecting it. It is a rough 
enough thing when it is done, for your backwoodsman looks only 
to the main point in everything, and dreams not of superfluity. He 
means that the roof shall shed rain, and the piled sides keep the 
wind out, and the floor afford dry footing. He puts in windows for 
hght, and benches to sit upon, and a pulpit or rostrum from which 
a speaker may be well heard. Then there is a great stove for 
the long winter, and sometimes, — not always, unfortunately, — some 
shelter for waiting steeds. But a thought of symmetry, of 
smoothing, of decoration — never intrudes. Architecture, which 
begins after eveiy purpose of mere use in a building is provided for, 
is out of the question here. Whoever would admire the log 
schoolhouse, must bring the beauty in his own mind. 

Yet it is hardly fair to say so, either. Letting the inside go, with 
its cave-like roughness, the outer aspect is not altogether devoid of 
the beauty which the artist loves. As to color, nothing can be 
finer, after a year's mellowing. When the tender spring green 
clothes the trees around it, its rich brown and gray earthy 
tints make the most delicious harmony, and its undulating outlines 
no discord. If log houses have not yet come well into pictures, it is 
because no artistic imagination has yet been warmed by them. I 
remember one, in a picture of Cole's, but it was the poorest, 
nakedest thing that could be, more literal than reahty itself. It was 
as different from the true — i. e. the ideal log house — as a builder's 
draught of the Parthenon from a Raffaelesque picture of it. Such 
cold correctness is death to typical beauty, for it does not recognize 



THE LOG SCHOOLHOUSE. IY3 



a soul in the inanimate. The painter had onl}- seen log houses, he 
had never felt them, as he had the Avoods and waters that he 
painted so \YelL A Daguerreotype ^-epresentation of a log house 
would be, to all intents and pui-poses, a hbel, for every tint of earth 
and sky has peculiar business in a true picture of this characteristic 
and interesting object in western scenery. Ruskin talks of Paul 
Veronese's painting, not, like Landseer, a dog ' wrought out with 
exquisite dexterity of handling, and minute attention to all the 
accidents of curl and gloss which can give appearance of reality, 
while the hue and power of the sunshine, &c., are utterly neglected' 
— but the ' essence of dog ;' now we want a painter who can give 
us the essence of log house, and particularly of log schoolhouse, or 
we would as soon see a wood-pile painted. That the Swiss 
chalet should have proved more inspiring to American painters, 
shows the blinding power of prejudice, or the illusion of strange- 
ness ; though, to be sure, we have not Alps to tower above our 
primal edifices. 

The enmity felt by the backwoodsman against trees too often 
exhibits itself in the vicinity of the schoolhouse, which ought to be 
shaded in summer, and shielded in winter by the ponderous trunks 
and green embracing arms in the midst of which it generally stands. 
But, accepting literally the poet's idea — ' the groves were God's 
fii-st temples,' we cut down the grove to make our temple, yet 
inconsistently ' clear' the space about it, partly for the sake of 
the necessaiy fuel, partly to make the place look civilized ! It 
is hard to get a few trees left for the children to sit under in 
the summer noon-spell. There is a savage rudeness in this, but it is 
in accordance with the leading idea of ' subduing' the country, and 
there is no surer way of putting a western settler in a passion, than 
talking to him about sparing a few trees, for any purpose. He will 



1V4 THE EVENING BOOK. 



plant them, perhaps, but he will never consent to leave them 
standing where natm-e placed them. When he sits in the 
schoolhouse on Sunday, listening to the sermon with his ears, while 
his mind, perhaps, strays off into that unseen which the week's 
cares and toils are apt to banish, or finds itself still entangled 
in those cares and toils, he loves to look through the windows, or 
the chinks, at the distant woods. Distant, they please and soothe 
him ; he feels, if he does not hear, their soft music ; he sees their 
gentle waving, and appreciates in some degree the power of their 
beauty ; but near, the association is unpleasant. His hands yet 
ache with the week's chopping, which must be forgotten that 
Sunday may be Sunday ; and the vicinity of huge trunks is 
suggestive only of labor. A wide bare space about the building 
has, to his imagination, the dignity of a field of triumph. It seems 
to afford sanction to the Sabbath repose. 

Within, neither paint nor plaster interferes with the impression 
of absolute rusticity. Desks of the rudest form line the sides, 
making a hollow oblong, in the middle of which stands the stovo, 
surrounded by low, long benches for the little ones. On week-days 
these are filled with pinafored urchins, who sit most of the time 
gazing at the pieces of sky they can discern through the high 
windows, or playing with bits of stick or straw, too insignificant to 
attract the keen, stern eye of the master, who would at once pounce 
upon a button or a marble. One by one these minims are called up 
to be alphabetized, or spell * c-a-t, pussy,' in the picture-book. 
Spelling and arithmetic are decidedly the favorite studies in most 
district schools ; writing is troublesome, and reading is expected to 
come by nature. A half wild, half plaintive sound fills the ear, the 
sound of recitation, which is generally an irksome business on both 
sides, the teacher too often conscious of utter incompetency and 



THE LOG SCHOOLHOUSE. lYo 



hating the task, the pupil feehng the incompetency of the teacher, 
at least enough to be certain that he himself is in hopeless circum- 
stances as far as ' book-larnin' is concerned. Girls and boys usually 
wear an equally sad countenance, for there is too wide a chasm 
between the home occupations and those of the school-room, to 
allow any familiarity with the themes of the latter. With the 
greater part of the scholars it is such up-hill work, that both 
they and their parents deserve much credit for persisting in efforts, 
the result of which is distant, at least, if not uncertain. A few 
happy, bright spirits flash out in spite of the dull influences, 
and they are apt to absorb the attention of the teacher, leaving still 
less hope for the unready. 

The disciphnary part has reference only to behavior, delinquency 
in lessons being a fault which the teacher is usually too honest or 
too sympathetic to \isit with much severity. High ofiences 
are biting apples, rattling nuts or marbles, singing, whistling, mak- 
ing faces, pinching and scratching. Cutting the desks and benches 
is nominally an ofience, bnt not often punished, because it can be 
done without noise ; once in a while, however, a confiscated knife 
diversifies the row of nuts and apples on the teacher's desk. Modes 
of punishment are ingeniously varied. To be put on the boys' side 
is a terrible one for the httle girls ; to hold up a slate, formidable to 
either sex. Standing upon the bench, or, in summer, on the stove, 
is equal to the pillory, especially when, as is sometimes practised, 
the whole school is enjoined to point the finger at the dehnquent. 
Minor transgressions are occasionally atoned for by wearing a piece 
of split quill on the top of the ear, or across the bridge of the nose, 
saddle-wise ; or carrying pinned to the back or shoulder, a piece of 
paper, on which a significant word is written. The rod is the last 
resource, unless the teacher gets a dislike to some unlucky boy, 



176 THE EVENING BOOK. 



whose smallest fault ever after looms large on his jaundiced eye. 
As it is conscious weakness that instinctively has recourse to force, it 
might naturally be expected that female teachers would be fondest 
of the use of the rod, and experience proves the fact. It serves as a 
substitute for the mental power which commands respect. The 
master's brow being by nature more terrible, he can afford to reserve 
flagellation for great occasions. 

If the absolute knowledge acquired under these circumstances 
could be ascertained, its amount would probably be so small as to 
seem disproportioned even to these simple means. But there are a 
thousand indirect advantages, both to children and parents, which 
• make themselves evident in due season, so that the difference be- 
tween children who go to school and those who do not, is as patent 
as if the teachers were Dr. Arnolds and Hannah Mores. This gen- 
eral result is all that the farmer expects or wishes ; he is, on the 
whole, rather prejudiced against books, like other uneducated people. 
We lately heard an intelhgent Russian say, that children are sent to 
the public schools in Russia because the Emperor wishes it ; the 
parents saying that they consider what is learned, beyond counting 
and signing one's name, rather a disadvantage than a good. The 
rough, hard-working American forms the same estimate ; and this 
is the less to be wondered at, when we see highly instructed people, 
who may be supposed to have full knowledge of the benefits of cul- 
tivation, adopting these unenlightened sentiments. It will hardly 
be beheved that men, not only of education but of learning, once 
transplanted to the woods, and forced into the hard struggle for the 
ordinary comforts of life which occupies both head and hands there, 
are found to let their children gi'ow up without even the cultivation 
within their reach ; so that among the most boorish of western 
youth, we see the sons and daughters of those who possess the 



THE LOG SCHOOLHOUSE. 177 



power of imparting the best instruction. This is more particularly 
the case with transplanted Europeans, certainly, but it is not inap- 
phcable to many of our own countrymen from the Eastern States. 

Sunday — benign provision for the sanity, bodily and mental, of 
man, and the comfort of the kindly beasts — wears a marked aspect 
here where the labor of the week is labor, and where the difference 
in dress, occupation, thoughts, between the Sabbath and the work- 
ing days, is as striking as that between the fairy as princess, and 
the fairy as cat. In town, we may have been harassed enough; 
anxious in business, weary with toilsome pleasure, exhausted with 
envious competition, faint with disappointed ambition ; perhaps spent 
with unselfish efforts to do good, or prostrate through the grief of 
ill-success. But we knov/ comparatively httle of muscular toil, and 
its pecuhar consequences upon the whole man, moral and physical. 
We go to church habitually ; perhaps with devout motives, perhaps 
through iistlessness ; because others go ; because we do not know 
what to do at home ; we admire the preacher or somebody in the 
congregation ; we have a pew and may as well use it ; it is a good 
habit for children, or builds up our own character for steadiness. 
We do not put on our best clothes, because it is vulgar, and may 
lead to a suspicion that we have nowhere else to exhibit them ; or 
from a better motive — a dislike to anything which may attract 
attention from the main and only legitimate object. In short om* 
w^ay of spending Sunday is like other things that we do, modified by 
our principles and circumstances. It has no general character, save 
that of outward decency ; it tells nothing of the man, except that he 
has no desire to be singular. 

But in the new country it is different. There, Sunday is some- 
thing in itself, over and above the sacredness of the command to re- 
frain from labor during its hours. It is a day of rest, emphatically ; 
8^ 



178 THE EVENING BOOK. 



and a day of cleanliness, and dress, and social congi-egation, and 
intellectual exercise ; and perhaps of reading and reflection, such as 
the toilsome week-days do not encourage, even if they do not wholly 
prevent. There has been a general winding up of common affaii*s 
on Saturday. The oven has done double duty ; and the churn has 
been used with vigor ; the remains of the ironing have been finished 
— for our Western housewives do not adhere strictly to the good old 
custom of ' washing-day,' but wash as irregularly as they do almost 
everything else ; so that the bushes may be seen weighed down with 
garments every day in the week, and sometimes even on Sunday. 
Everything that could be done beforehand has been attended to, and 
the bed-hour hastened a httle, to make the most of the coveted repose. 
Sunday-morning breakfast is a little dilatory, and the hour or two 
after it is one of bustling preparation. The requisite offices about 
the house and farm are dispatched as summarily as may be ; and 
the family — including old grandmother and baby and all — set off 
for church, after covering up the fire, and putting a fork over the 
latch — a precaution which makes it necessary for one of the boys to 
get out of a window. This is merely a hint to those who may call, 
that the family is absent ; not to guard against thieves, since the 
windows are all unguarded. How much trouble is saved by having 
little to lose ! ' Blessed be nothing !' we have often had reason to 
exclaim. 

At church, the arrivals are various as to time ; some liking to be 
in season — say an hour before the service begins ; others having too 
much to do at home to allow of the enjoyment of this precious in- 
terval of gossip. In winter, some good soul makes the fire, for it is 
nobody's business in particular ; and stout young fellows bring in 
huge armfuls of wood, which they pile behind the stove. In sum- 
mer, the men congregate on the shady side of the meeting-house, 



THE LOG SCHOOLHOUSE. 179 



and talk over the affairs of the week, the approaching election, or 
the price of wheat. The women converse in whispers, comparing 
household experiences, or recounting, in moving terms, cases of ' fits' 
or ' inward fever' in their own famihes or those of their neighbors. 
Those on whom is to devolve the burthen of the music, are intent 
on their singing-books, humming or softly whisthng over new 
or only half-learned tunes, and comparing one with another. As 
there is not even a guess as to what hymns will be given out, 
nothing like general practice can be attempted ; but there is so little 
leisure during the week, that the quiet, and ease, and clean fingers 
of Sunday seem to suggest music, as naturally as joy does ; and a 
degree of attention and interest is excited which might be turned to 
excellent account if good instruction were at hand just at the right 
moment. 

When the minister arrives, there is a momentary bustle, from re- 
suming customary places and putting away the music-books. But 
soon all becomes solemn. The idea of -cheeifulness and religion 
being compatible, never enters the head of one of those good people. 
A countenance not merely serious but sad, is considered the only 
proper one for the contemplation of rehgious ideas. This is cer- 
tainly a great error, and one which tends to the further separation 
of religion from the affairs of common life, and the association of 
piety with death and sorrow, rather than with hfe and hope, joy and 
peace. 

A very short intermission succeeds the morning service, and 
lunch is eaten on the spot by all members from a distance. The 
horses are looked to, and a little repose or a stroll in the grove is 
the preparation for a new session. This is of com-se a much more 
di'owsy affah. Even the minister himself, who is hardly expected to 
be human, will be heav}^-eyed, sometimes, under such a continuous 



180 THE EVENING BOOK. 



effort ; and many of the hearers succumb entirely, giving audible 
tokens of complete forgetfulness of mortal things. Fortunately the 
babies generally sleep too, and the unlucky boys who let marbles 
dj-op on the floor in the morning, and the girls who would whisper 
in spite of frowns, feel the influence of the hour, and grow tame and 
good under it. Still the afternoon service is rather uphill work, and 
there is a general, though un confessed feeling of relief when it is 
over, even among the best church-goers. 

And now the Sunday is over, in fact, though not^ form ; since 
public worship is the marked portion of sacred time. Great stillness 
still prevails, however, even where a large portion of the population 
never go to church. No one is so abject as not to respect the day 
so far as outward appearance goes. There are those who think Sun- 
day a choice day for gunning, because the woods are undisturbed by 
the sound of the axe ; others who use the day for a general survey 
of the fields and fences ; and others still who will toss hay or get in 
wheat, in spite of what they deem the prejudices of their neighbors. 
But there is no noise — no boasting or bravado. "When these inde- 
pendent people say, ' It is a free country, and every man can do as 
he likes,' they do not claim the least right to interfere with a neigh- 
bor's freedom. That would not be tolerated in any one. There is 
a vast deal of free-thinking, and even what might be called a worse 
name, in matters of religion, at the "West, but it is necessarily quiet ; 
foi' public sentiment is decidedly against it, though that pubhc senti- 
ment is far from being just what it should be. 

In the Sabbath exercises the parents take their own personal 
share of the log schoolhouse, and it is a beautiful sight to see them 
assemble ; hard, knotty, rough, bashful, and solemn, all clean washed 
and dressed, though carrying the week's atmosphere of toil about 
them, even in their Sunday clothes. The sexes are divided, but sit 



THE LOG SCHOOLHOUSE. 181 



facmg each other, and the low benches, on week-days appropriated 
to bread-and-milk scholars, are in meeting occupied by mothers, 
with babies and younglings who enjoy the benefit of the open space 
for manifold evolutions more amusing than edifying. There is a 
curious mixture of extreme formality and familiarity on these occa- 
sions. Countenances wear an unconscious and forbidding gravity, 
as husbands and wives, parents and children, beaux and belles, look 
each other full in the face across the house ; but if a baby is trou- 
blesome, the father will go and take it from the mother, and return- 
ing gravely to his seat, toss it and play with it awhile and then 
carry it back again. Children go into the passage for a drink ; dogs 
sit gazing up at the preacher, and fall asleep like Christians if the 
day is warm ; the speaker stops sometimes to give directions about 
matters that need attention, or even points his sermon directly at 
some individual whose connection with it is well known. 

We remember an occasion when the preacher began his discourse 
by a considerable dissertation on controversy, declaring his dislike 
to it, and appealing to his auditors for confirmation of his assertion 
that he had always avoided it. After spending some fifteen minutes 
on this topic, he announced that he had been requested by a person 
then present to preach from a certain text, which he forthwith read, 
and appealed to the person by name, as to whether it was the text 
he meant. An affirmative answer having been given by a deep 
bass voice in a far corner, the speaker read some twenty verses by 
way of context, adding that if any person present wished him to 
read more he would do so, and upon request he proceeded to read 
several verses more. Now preparing seriously for the work, by- 
coughing, etc., he drew the attention of his hearers by saying that 
there were only two kinds of isms that he contended with — devil- 
ism and manism ; but that if the gentleman who had selected the 



182 THE EVENING BOOK. 



text found Universalism in it, he was willing, for truth's sake, to 
show him his error. He thought some people present would open 
their eyes, when they found how httle of that doctrine the passage 
in question really contained. He did not mean to back up his text 
with other portions of Scripture ; it could stand on its own legs. 
He came ' neither to criticise, ridicule, or blackguard anybody,' but 
thought he was right, and was wilHng to be shown if he was wrong. 
About half an hour had now elapsed, yet the sermon was not fairly 
begun. There was plenty of time yet, however, for he went on 
more than an hour longer, warming with a feeling of success, and 
ever and anon casting triumphant glances at the corner where sat 
his opponents, as he felt that he had given a home thrust to their 
theological errore. This seraion was much praised, and pronounced 
by the schoolmaster of the day the most powerful discourse he had 
ever heard. 

This sketch, however, represents an individual, not a class. Ambi- 
tion is not the pulpit vice of the woods, and sermons are usually 
of the hortatory character, delivered with great fervor. It must be 
confessed that doctrinal sermons win the most respect, and are most 
talked about ; exhortation is deemed commonplace in comparison — 
mere milk for babes. A sermon on original sin, which asserted that 
infants of a day might be damned, and that souls in blessedness 
would be able to rejoice over the eternal misery of those they loved 
best, because it vindicated' Almighty justice, gave gTcat, though per- 
haps not general satisfaction. ' Ah !^ wasn't it elegant !' we heard a 
good woman say, coming out ; 'I haven't heard such a sermon 
since I came from the East !' 

The public taste turning thus toward knotty points of divinity, 
the preachei-s, whose employment depends upon their acceptableness, 
naturally make polemics a large part of their httle reading — an 



THE LOG SCHOOLHOUSE. 183' 



unhappy result, considering the very httle good hkely to be accom- 
plished among uninstructed people by controversial preaching. The 
pulpit is the most efficient instructor of the people, on other subjects 
besides religion, and the advance in general intelhgence must depend 
very much upon the competency of those who undertake the dis- 
pensation of ethical truth. It is therefore greatly to be desired that 
knowledge should be added to zeal, in those who go westward in 
the hope of doing good. Too many who go are deficient in both, 
and no one who has hved there will doubt that the harm done, 
directly and indirectly, by such, is incalculable ; but there is another 
class whose persuasions to religion, though honestly meant, lead 
only to superstition and outward observance, too common every- 
where, but especially destructive in their influence on true piety in 
unenlightened communities. A considerable portion of the religious 
teachei-s who officiate, self-elected, in the western wildfe, are behind 
those they teach in general intelligence, and- not much' above them 
in familiarity with religious topics, though they may possess a great 
flow of words, which pass for signs of ideas, but are not such, as it 
regards either party. Some sermons are mere strings of Scriptural 
phrases and well-known texts, often curiously wrenched from their 
authorized meaning to favor the purpose of the hour. The idea 
on these occasions seems to be, that the people are to be touched; 
moved, excited, frightened, or persuaded into an interest in religion, 
by any and every means that the Scriptui-es afford, and that with so 
good a purpose it is lawful to make them afford whatever may pro- 
mise to be effectual. Griesbach and Pkbsenmiiller would stare at 
some of the glosses of our zealous preachers, and the learned Rabbi 
who has been lecturing among us would find his metaphysics out- 
done in subtilty, by certain constructions of the Old Testament 



184 THE EVENING BOOK. 



histories, which read with such grave simphcity and directness to 
the unlearned. 

With all deductions, however, an immense amount of good is 
done in various ways. Even when the preacher is deficient, the 
hearers extract good in some shape from his blind teaching ; that is 
to say, seeking for good, they find it whether it is brought them or 
not. Who can reckon the value of the rest, the change of thought, 
the neat dress, the quiet, the holy associations, which the Sabbath 
day brings with it in the country ! The best touchstone of valua- 
ble citizenship is found in the log schoolhouse. He who feels no 
interest in that, feels none in anything that concerns the welfare of 
the community. 

The Sunday-school is one of the most interesting of all the occu- 
pations of the school house, but it would require the graphic power 
of a Hogarth to describe it worthily. As there is no rod, and no 
authority but one founded on sentiment, the erratic genius of the 
West has full scope. The youth who would on week-days tell his 
teacher — ' Scoldin' don't hurt none — whippin' don't last long — and 
kill me you darsriH /' would not probably be very lamblike under 
the instructions of the Sabbath ; and the very proposition to teach 
for love, and not for money, puts every one on his guard. They 
cannot exactly see the trap, but they are pretty sure there is 
one ! Something very hke bribery is necessary, in order to secure 
the attendance of the class of scholai-s whom it is most desirable to 
pei-suade — the children of parents who do not frequent the school- 
house. Some of these hardly know the Bible by name, and others 
have heard it only scoffed at. But rehgious teaching often exerts a 
wonderful power even over such, and they are apt to be converted 
to a faith in disinterested benevolence at least. The labor of teach- 
ing them is quite equal to that required for teaching in Ceylon, ac- 



THE LOG SCHOOLHOUSE. 185 



cording to Dr. Poor ; and the good missionary's whole description 
of the mission schools in that far land, reminded me very much of 
certain western experiences. 

Besides the uses we have mentioned, the schoolhouse is the thea- 
tre of the singing-school, so dear to country beaux and belles ; ot 
the spelling-school, as exciting as a vaudeville ; of all sorts of shows 
and lectures, expositions and orations. Even the ceremonies of the 
Catholic Church are found possible within those rude walls, and 
incense has won its way to the sky through the chinks of warped 
oak shingles. The most numerous sects are the Baptists and Metho- 
dists ; but there is hardly one unrepresented. We remember a 
Quaker sermon on a certain occasion, which produced perhaps as 
great a sensation as any doctrinal discourse of them all, though it 
partook very little of theology. 

We had occasionally met for pubhc worship, in a lonely school- 
house on the border of the forest, where two roads crossed, and 
where, in winter, a flooring of chips showed that the seekers after 
learning were not behindhand in consuming the woods as fast as 
their great stove would assist them. This primitive temple, with its 
notched desks and gashed benches, was used in turn by religionists 
of every shade of belief and no behef ; even the Mormons had ex- 
pounded their Golden Bible (by some of the neighbors beheved to 
have been typified by the Golden Calf which led the people astray 
in old times), from its crazy platform, and a rough-looking gentle- 
man in a plaid neckcloth had, during a whole evening, thumped the 
teacher's desk till it quivered again, in his endeavors to prove all 
rehgion a device for the better subjection of the people. A Sunday- 
school had been maintained here for some time, at no small cost to 
the good laymen who conducted it ; for they were obliged, in winter, 
to precede their scholars by at least an hour, and make the fire and 



186 THE EVENING BOOK. 

arrange the room, lest some petty discomfort sliould prove an excuse 
for absence on the part of those whom they were most desirous of 
benefiting. Here, too, were singing-schools held, and spelhng- 
schools, and other solemnities requiring space and benches ; and the 
log schoolhouse, spite of its rough aspect, was, as usual, a building 
in much request and high esteem. 

There was no ' stated preaching' in it on Sundays, but clergymen 
of different denominations seemed to know by intuition or magnet- 
ism when it would be available, and their appointments dovetailed 
so nicely that its so-called pulpit was seldom unoccupied at the 
hours of di^dne service. Once only, within the memory of ' the 
oldest inhabitant,' did ten o'clock, Sunday morning, find the people 
assembled, — the wagons tied outside, with their seats turned down 
as a precaution against faUing skies, and their patient steeds chewing 
* post-meat' for recreation — and no preacher forthcoming. A sort 
of extempore, self-constituted deacon, after much solemn whispering 
with the grave-looking farmers who sat near him, gave out a hymn, 
which was sung with a sort of nervous slowness, and much looking 
at the door. A restless pause followed, and then the deacon gave 
out another hymn, in six verses, with a repeat ; this occupied a con- 
venient portion of time, and then came another fidgety silence, 
during which, some of the lighter members shpped out, and several 
of the children went to the pail outside the door for a drink. The 
deacon then offered to read a chapter, and proposed, if the clergy- 
man did not arrive in that time, that some of the brethren should 
' make a few remarks.' The chapter was read, and the remarks 
duly invited ; but this only made the silence deeper ; indeed, it was 
such that you might have heard a pin drop. 

Nobody belonging to the town seemed to have anything on his 
mind, and after a httle pause, there were evident symptoms of a 



THE LOG SCHOOLHOUSE. 187 



natural dissolution of the meeting ; when a Quakeress, who was on 
a visit in the neighborhood, laid aside her close bonnet, and stand- 
ing up, presented to the \Tiew of the assembly a fair and calm face, 
on which sat the holy smile of Christian love and confidence. All 
was hushed, for such a look has an hresistible charm. 

* My friends,' she begai], with a sweet solemn tone, between en- 
treaty and reproof, ' since you are disappointed with regard to your 
minister, perhaps you will be willing to hear a few words from one 
who, though personally a stranger, feels a true interest in you, and 
who would fain help you forward, even ever so httle, in the religious 
life. Your desire to have the gospel preached to yon, shows thaft 
you are, at least in some measure, seeking that hfe, and my mind 
has been drawn towards you as I observed the dependence you 
seemed to feel on the ministrations of the person expected. It has 
certainly seemed strange to me that so much uneasiness and com- 
motion should have been occasioned by the failure of a particular 
person to conduct your worship. ' God is a spirit, and they that 
worship Him must worship Him in spirit.' Now you, every one of 
»you, brought with you to this house this morning a spirit, in and 
by which alone you can worship acceptably. You have here before 
you the book containing the revealed word, in which you could find 
wherewithal to direct and govern your thoughts on this occasion ; 
why then should the absence of any mere man interfere with your 
purpose of woi-ship, and leave your minds unquiet and your thoughts 
wandering V 

Thus the gentle monitor opened her tt'uly extempore sermon, and, 
passing from one topic to another as she proceeded with her remon- 
strance, she touched on many points of scripture and practical reli- 
gion, until her audience forgot their disappointment, or remembered 
it only to rejoice at it. The prejudice against a woman's pi-etending 



188 THE EVENING BOOK. 



to teach in public, though peculiarly strong among coarse and unlet- 
tered people, melted before the feminine grace and modesty with which 
the speaker was so largely endowed ; and when she finished, and 
resumed her seat and her bonnet, there were few present who would 
not gladly have agreed to hear her every Sunday. How they 
would have relished her silence, or whether her arguments had done 
anything towards convincing them that the heart may worship 
though no word be spoken, we can only conjecture; for before an- 
other Sabbath, the persuasive eye and voice had departed on some 
mission to the farther West, and we never again enjoyed her minis- 
try of love in The Log Schoolhouse. 



STANDARDS. 

We need standards. Not siicli as are wont to be presented by 
fine ladies in balconies to glittering crowds below, where plumes 
wave and steel flashes in the sunshine, while the vulgar, dazzled 
with the pretty pageant, rend the air with their ' most sweet voices.' 
Not such standards as these do we lack ; would they were fewer ! 

By the way, is it not a strange thing that woman, who was sent 
into the world to be an angel of peace and mercy, should have lent 
herself to such things ? that she should ever have been persuaded 
to become the tool of the ambitious and the revengeful ? that her 
hand should have been trained to endue the knight's death-dealing 
sword ; to buckle on his heel those silver cruelties called spurs ; and 
to place in his steeled grasp the lance whose best aim was to be the 
life-blood of fathers, and brothers, and husbands ? Does she not shoot 
madly from her sphere when she lends the power of her presence to 
the public baptism of a silken banner, whose inscription is cunningly 
devised for the promotion of ghastly death ? Oh that these beautiful 
emblems of horror, these gilded toys significant of deepest woe, — 
of poverty, of widowoood, of despair, — were wont to change their 
delusive seeming for their true character, even as they pass from the 



190 THE EVENING BOOK. 



hand of the fair giver to that of the tinselled warrior ! For crimson 
and gold, for gleaming white and dehcate azure, we should then 
behold the fell traces of a ' heady fight ; ' black powder-stains, huge 
rents, showing the path of hostile bullets ; and over all and through 
all, a plentiful sprinkhng of human gore ; perhaps the heart-blood 
of the poor ensign whose duty it is to pour out his life in defence of 
the costly rag. Methinks one such disenchanting revelation would 
suffice for the woman of one generation at least. 

But whither am I wandering ? All I set out to say was, that we 
are in daily want of standards suited to the considerate, prodigal, 
ambitious, economical, and particularly the.morahzing habits of this 
utilitarian age ; standards of propriety, standards of expense, and of 
many other things which are brought into daily discussion in our 
times. Here, in our country, where we boast that none of us have 
any body to look up to., while we are every one looking up to some- 
body, it seems to be peculiarly difficult to determine just how far 
€ach ought to go in .certain matters ; what proportion should be 
observed in om* expenditures ; and how much pretension we are 
•entitled to, whether in dress, furniture, or style of living. At least 
half the scandal of our coteries derives its zest fi'om the debateable 
nature of these important points. If any one would be kind and 
ingenious enough to devise a shding-scale whose register should 
decide these things, he would be much better entitled to the national 
thanks than ever was the great inventor of that corn-screw to the 
gratitude of the grain-growers of England. We need some talHs- 
man to put a cheek upon these ceaseless inquisitions, and imputa- 
tions, and calculations, all undertaken for the sole benefit of our 
neighbors. If we must, as a people, be idolaters of the physical and 
the outward, let us have our grounds of worship and our grades of 
ministration settled definitely, that the land may have rest. 



STANDARDS. 191 



What an edifying conversation ensues when Mrs. Angle sets the 
ball roUing by a remark touching the table-habits of the Dash- 
woods ! 

' Can you beheve that people who live in so splendid a house, 
with satin-damask hangings and all manner of show, dine off a 
cotton table-cloth, and without even napkins V 

' Believe it ! certainly,' says a hum-drum looking person in the 
corner, whose appearance would be entirely insignificant were it not 
for a pair of peering eyes, which show that she is to be dreaded as 
a visiter at least ; ' believe it ! I can believe any thing, for I caught 
them sitting down to a shoulder of mutton, with the water it had 
been boiled in seiTcd up for soup ;' 

'How came you to call at dinner-time?' asks a simple-minded 
country lady. 

' ! I went late on purpose, and made the servant believe I was 
a pei-son on business, just to see how they did live, for I knew that 
people who cut the figure they do must pinch somewhere.' 

' As to that,' remarks a prim-hpped damsel, with very bony hands 
'/ saw Mrs. Dashwood put a sixpence into the plate last Sunday. 
I declare I thought her fat fingers blushed as they did it ? They 
looked red enough, I 'm sure !' 

Poor Mi-s. Dashwood ! Yet she has her revenge, for she is at 
this very moment telhng one of her neighboi*s, whose ideas of style 
correspond more nearly with her own, what she thinks of the airs of 
Mi's. Angle ' and that set,' who, living in small houses with ' really 
common furnitm-e,' yet affect not only napkins but silver forks and 
finger-glasses ! 

Mrs. Pensile is a serious lady, a pattern-woman ; but she means 
to maintain her reputation and satisfy her conscience by just as httle 
self-denial as will answer the pm-pose. She will be careful not to 



192 THE EVENING BOOK. 



give up any thing that is not absokitely inconsistent with her pro- 
fession of sobriety. She sometimes indulges in expenses which she 
feels to be scarcely in keeping with her theories, but she is alwaj^s 
able to come off triumphant by proving to you that one of the 
neighbors, who makes a still higher profession, goes farther that she 
ever does. 

' It does really hm-t my feelings,' says Mrs. Pensile, * to see Miss 
Evergreen, who is a member of our church, wear a shawl that cost 
her, to my certain knowledge, three hundred dollars.' 

' But Miss Evergreen is a woman of fortune, and has nobody to 
provide for.' 

' True ; but it does seem to me that there is some limit to the 
expenses in which serious people may lawfully indulge ! My shawl 
now cost but ninety dollars, and I am sure it is as good as anybody 
ought to want V 

The visiter who has assented to this proposition goes off to her 
own coterie, and there gives vent to the ' exercise ' of her mind by 
telling Mrs Peusile's idea of a standard for shawls. 

' To think that woman actually takes credit to herself because 
she wears a shawl that cost only ninety dollars ! I rather think if 
she would look round her own church, she would see. many people 
whose wardrobe needs very much the aid of a part of the money ! 
For my part, my best shawl cost scarcely half as much, and even 
that went against my conscience ! ' 

Upon this a certain lady whispers to her companion on the sofa, 
at the same time looking very hard at the last speaker : 

' That is a good deal more than you ought to afford. Madam, on 
my certain knowledge ! Do you know, Mrs. Burn, that that lady's 
husband is my husband's partner, and I never think of giving over 
twenty dollars for a shawl. There 's my hrochd cost but eighteen.' 



STANDARDS. 193 



* And after all,' says an ancient dame who overliears her, ' my 
good Paisley tartan, which cost but five, is warmer than either, and 
looks as well as anybody need wish, if it were not for pride.' 

Now if it were supposable that one of our thrifty, tidy western 
housewives could be present at so refined a colloquy, she might cap 
the chmax by adding : 

' If you would all do as I do, make comfortable wadded mantillas 
out of your old dresses, for youi*selves and your children, you would 
have more money to pay your husband's debts ^dth, and something 
to give to the poor beside. Mine is made of the skirt of my 
wedding-gown, and cost me nothing but the batting and the 
quilting ! ' 

Who shall draw the hue for these good ladies ? 

Miss Long, during a stroll up Broadway, late on a pleasant 
afternoon, happens to see Miss Hauton trip daintily down hei* 
father's marble steps to the carriage which is to convey her to 
a dinner-party. It is but a glimjDse, yet Miss Long had time to take 
an inventory of Miss Hauton's decorations. The hair was elegantly 
dressed ; the robe, of the latest Parisian make and the most exquisite 
delicacy of color, and the satin shoe and the splendid mouclioir 
com2:>leted a costume which would have been pronounced faultless 
by the best judges, and which Miss Long secretly decides to be 
' perfectly angehc ! ' From this moment she never rests until 
she has pei-suaded her indulgent papa to allow her an outfit as 
nearly like Miss Hauton's as possible. But Miss Long is not invited 
to dinner-parties, nor does her papa keep a carriage ; what then 
shall she do with her beautiful new dress and its accompaniments ? 
She wears them to walk the streets and make morning visits. Mrs. 
Sharp, after bowing out Miss Long, turns to her daughter with a 
compassionate smile, and the remark : 
9 



194 THE EVENING BOOK. 



'What a pity that poor gjrl will make herself ridiculous by 
dressing so conspicuously in the streets ! ' 

Miss Long has no conception of anything like propriety in dress. 
"With her, dress is dress, be time and place what they may. She 
has been accustomed to think that a gingham wrapper, or perhaps 
something not so neat, is quite ' good enough' for a morning at 
home ; but there her distinctive perceptions of proprieties in costume 
are at an end. The idea of a 'beauty of fitness' in dress or 
anything else, has never been presented to her mind. 

A lady of clear understanding but no particular accuracy of 
expression happens to observe to her friend : ' Your daughter is just 
now at the right age to begin music' 

' Don't you think she 's rather young ? ' 

' No ; it is the best time for whatever depends much on habit or 
requires manual dexterity. Beside, her time is worth nothing for 
any other ]3ursuit.' 

The friend looks up from her woi*sted-work in horror. ' Time 
worth nothing ! You surprise me ! I consider time a sacred 
trust.' 

' Oh, certainly ; but comparatively, I- mean ; there is very Httle 
use in urging books at so early an age.' 

' Time worth nothing ! ' pursues the morahzing dame, who has 
got hold of a fruitful topic ; ' that is the last sentiment I should have 
expected from a woman of your principles ! I look upon even a 
little girl's time as very valuable. I am teaching Viola to sew. I 
consider sewing much more necessary than music. A woman who 
does not know the use of her needle is good for nothing. You 've 
no idea how beautifully Viola can work already ! Here is a pan of 
manchettes she is finishing for me ; look at the lace-work. By the 
way, have you seen my new collar ? Mrs. Taft says she could not 



STANDARDS. 195 



distinguish it from Paris embroidery. Indeed, I stole the pattern 
from a French one. And there are my ottomans, just come home ; 
beautifully mounted, are they not? The unconscionable wretch 
charged me forty dollars for that mounting. But they ought to be 
handsomely set, when I have bestowed so much labor upon them. 
I worked at them five weeks, and we had company part of the time 
too, so that I could not work all the time.' The friend takes the 
opportunity of a pause, to observe pohtely : ' I cannot imagine how 
you find time for so much ! ' 

Oh ! it is by making use of every moment. I never allow 
myself to be idle. I keep this screen-frame at hand, so that while 
I am receiving calls I may be busy.' And, full of self-approval, the 
Jady continues her devotion to the embroidered screen, wondering 

how so sensible a woman as Mrs. could say that even a child's 

time is worth nothing. 

Mr. Howard, a city merchant, finding business unprosperous, 
through the changefulness of the times or the failure of some 
correspondent, resolves to retire while it is yet time ; and wishing to 
alter his style of living, thinks he can do it with smaller sacrifice of 
feeling if he change his place of residence and his plan of life. He 
has always had, hke many of his city brethren, a green dream 
floating far away in the back-ground of his imagination ; an incipient 
calenture, under the influence of which fields and forests have 
looked particularly enticing to his mind's eye. Now is the time to 
try this new spring of happiness. So he follows his friend Allbright 
into the country, and buys a farm, and hires a farmer to manage it 
for him, as Allbright has done. But Allbright is of a quiet turn, 
and fonder of reading than anything else ; and Howard is a person 
of overflowing activity, who cares nothing for books, and whatever 
he may suppose, really loves only society and bustle. 



196 THE EVENING BOOK 



During the first month after the effort and turmoil of becoming 
settled in a new residence are over, Howard yawns and stretches 
until dislocation seems inevitable. But harvest is approaching, and 
then there will be some stir, and Howard suspends his judgment of 
rural hfe until then. Harvest begins, and all is animation ; and 
Howard walks about the fields, with his hands in his pockets, until 
he begins to long to be busy too. After two or three days, looking 
on has lost its charm, and he resolves to try his hand at this new 
form of energy. He works furiously for a day or two, quite flattered 
that the men declare he does his share and more. And then one 
morning he wakes up with a fever. After a tolerable seasoning, he 
quietly moves his forces townward again, being thoroughly convinced 
that ruralizing is not his forte. He had judged himself by his 
friend, when in fact no two can be more different. He resolves to 
face manfully his altered style of li\ing, and with conscious honesty 
to sustain his self-respect, he finds the world's dread eye not half so 
terrible as he thought it. 

The Reverend Doctor Deal, pastor of a city congregation, with a 
large salary and only two sons, not only sends his boys to the most 
expensive colleges, but allows them private instruction from the 
best m listers, to fit them for the arena. The good Doctor has been 
heard to remark, with a disapprobation not unmixed with contempt, 
upon the absurdity of his friend Mr. Berrington's attempting, with 
his family, to send his sons to college. 

Now Mr. Berrington, a member of Dr. Deal's church, and no 
illiberal contributor to the large salary above-mentioned, is a sala- 
ried man too, but his income is not so good as the Doctor's, and he 
has, moreover, six sons instead of two. Yet he feels that his posi- 
tion in society, his connections, his own education and habits, all 
make it verv desirable that his sons should be liberallv educated. 



STANDARDS. 197 



Charles, the eldest, has mastered the school-course, and is very 
anxious to go to college with his young companions. The father, 
after much deliberation and some misgiving, concludes that the 
attempt must be made. It is only choosing a college where expen- 
ses are moderate, retrenching a little at home, and enjoining strict 
economy upon Charles ; and he will be nearly through college 
before John's turn comes. Charles leaves home with heroic resolu- 
tions of hard study ; then goes to college, and does as most other 
boys do. Retrenchments at home are trying, and Mr. Berrington 
has almost resolved against another so inconvenient attempt. But 
John, who is of a more quiet turn than his brother, makes so many 
fair promises, and seems so hkely to keep them, and Charles, under 
pain of his father's displeasure, takes hold of his studies so manfully 
at last — and comes off with the honors — that John is, after all, 
allowed to take his brother's place when Charles is put into a law- 
office to learn his profession. And this is the history of some three 
or four of the elder sons, until Charles, having set up for himself, 
finds that he has a great many competitors. The next tries medi- 
cine, but finds it hard to make bread of calomel. The next — we 
will not, even for a supposition, say that out of the whole six one 
takes to the Church as a mere livelihood, — the next, we may find 
teaching in some school or college, and he continues poor, almost of 
course. One has some talent as an artist, and he makes a support, 
though it is a slender one. Another thinks this being a poor gentle- 
man is but a poor business after all, and he resolves to try farming. 
But the education of his father and brothers is against him. He 
feels so painful a distinction between himself and the rest, that his 
courage fails, and he studies a profession after all. It is not until 
the youngest has witnessed the struggles of pride and poverty and 
pangs of 'hope deferred,' wearing the very life out of the whole 



198 THE EVENING BOOK. 



family, tliat he resolves upon a more manly course. He is regularly 
apprenticed to an architect ; learns the business thoroughly, and has 
during his time of service the advantage which may be enjoyed in 
many other branches of business, a constant familiarity with objects 
of taste and refinement. He has also the advantage of a means of 
living which is referable to rules, and can be judged of with cer- 
tainty. He thrives, marries, hves respectably, and is happy. His 
brothers have an air, when speaking of him, as if he had rather lost 
caste, yet they are not averse to borrowing money of him suh rosa, 
and their unprosperous condition proves no small drawback upon his 
comfort. He has chosen one of many professions which, though 
connected with mechanical effort, do not necessarily imply any lack 
of intellectual culture or social refinement ; and he has secured com- 
petence, peace, abihty to assist others, in place of that grinding pov- 
erty which is imbittered by a constant effort at concealment, and 
that close application of every dollar to purposes connected with 
appearance^ which allows nothing to spare in any emergency ; a con- 
dition more inevitably hellttling (if we may be allowed the use of a 
kitchen word in a utilitarian discussion) than any mechanical em- 
ployment, stitching not excepted. 

Do we not need standards sadly ? Or is it only a little more self- 
reliance, self-recollection, self-respect ? a more distinct perception 
of our true interest and dignity ? a clear-sighted preference of reahty 
to mere appearance, of the inward to the outward ? Something is 
lacking, certainly ; and the inquiry is worth making — ' What is it P 



SKETCH OF A CASE ; 

OR A PHYSICIAN EXTRAORDINARY. 

Doctor R sat alone in his study when a lady was announced. 

"Mi-s. Waldorf, sir," and the doctor laid down his pen andrecieved 
his \dsiter very cordially. She was the wife of a rich German mer- 
chant, and a distant cousin of his own ; a handsome woman of about 
five and thirty, with sufficient repose of manner, but too spirited an 
eye to pass for a mere fashionable machine. 

" I have come to you, doctor, instead of sending for you," began 
the lady, " because I do not wish Mr. Waldorf to know I have 
thought it necessary to consult you. He is so easily alarmed, and 
if he knew you had prescribed for me would watch me so closely 
and insist so much upon my observance of yom* directions to the 
very letter, that I should have no peace." 

The doctor smiled, as if he thought Mr. Waldorf would not be so 
far wrong as his lady might suppose. 

" But what is it, my dear madam ?" he said, taking Mrs. Wal- 
dorfs hand and giving a look of professional scrutiny to her face. 
" You look well, though there is a slight flaccidity about the eyes, and 
not quite so ruby a nether lip as one might vnsh. to see. What is it ?" 

" Oh ! a thousand things, doctor ; mv health is miserable — at least 



200 THE EVENING BOOK. 



I sometimes think so ; I have pains in the right side — and such 
flutterings at my heart — and such lassitude — and such headaches — 
and sleep so miserably — " 

" Are your pains very severe ? are they of a heavy, dull kind, or 
sharp and darting ? and how often do you experience them ?" 

" They are not very constant — no, not constant, certainly, nor very 
severe — but, doctor, they fill me with apprehensions of future evil 
It is not present suffering of which I complain, so much as a fear of 
worse to come. I dread lest disease should make such progress, 
unnoticed, that it will be vain to attempt a cure." And Mrs. Wal- 
dorf's eyes filled with tears at the very thought of her troubles. 

" You are wise to take it in time," said Doctor R . "But tell 

me more of these symptoms. At what time of the day do you 
generally feel most indisposed ?" 

" Oh ! I can scarcely say. When I wake in the morning, I am 
always very miserable. My head is full of dull pain, especially 
about the eyes. My hps are parched ; I find it a great exertion to 
dress myself, and never have the slightest appetite for breakfast." 

' Ah ! indeed !' mused the doctor, ' you breakfast as soon as you 
arise, I presume. At what hour do you retire V 

* We make it a rule to be in bed by twelve, unless we happen to 
be engaged out, which is but seldom. Waldorf detests parties and 
late hours. We spend our evenings with music or books, very 
quietly.' 

' At what hour do you sup ?' 

* We have nothing like a regular supper, but for mere sociality's 
sake we have a tray brought up about ten. I take nothing beyond 
a bit of chicken or a few oysters, or a slice of cake, and sometimes 
only a cracker and a glass of wine. You look as if you thought 
even this were better omitted ; but I should scarcely know how to 



SKETCH OF A CASE. 201 



cut off one of my husband's few social pleasures. He would 
touch nothing if I did not partake with him. He thinks as ill of 
suppers as you do.' 

' I beg your pardon — I inteiTupted your detail of symptoms to 
ask these questions as to the evening. You say you liave no appe- 
tite for breakfast — how long do these feelings of languor and 
exhaustion continue to trouble you ?' 

' Oh ! I generally feel better after a cup of coffee ; and after 
practising at the harp or the piano-forte for an hour or two, or 
sometimes three when I have new music, I generally drive out, 
and perhaps shop a little, or at any rate take a turn into the coun- 
try for the air, and usually return somewhat refreshed.' 
' Do you take your airings alone V 

' Yes — perforce, almost. There are none of my intimate friends 
who can go with me. They drive out regularly, and take children 
with them, or they have other objects ; one cannot ask a mere 
acquaintance, so I go alone, which is not very exhilarating.' 
'Your own children are not at home ?' 

'jSfo — if they were, I should need no other company for the car- 
riage. The society of young people is pleasant to me, but Adelaide 

is at Madame 's and Ernest is with a German clergyman, a 

friend of his fathers. I fancy my rides would be of much greater 
service to me if I had a pleasant companion or two.' 

' Undoubtedly — and I know a lady and her daughter to whom a 
regular morning airing with such society as that of Mrs. Waldorf 
would be the very breath of life ! What a pity that etiquette 
comes in the way of so many good things ? But go on, I beg.' 

'Etiquette! say not another word, doctor — who and where are 
these friends or patients of yours ? I should be happy if I could 



202 THE EVENING BOOK. 



oflPer any ser^^ce. I will call with you on them this very day if you 
like, and invite them to ride with rae daily.' 

' Thank you a thousand times, my dear madam,' said Dr. R , 

* it is what I could not venture to ask. Yet I am not afraid you 
will not find my friends at least tolerably agreeable — ^but will you 
proceed with the account you were giving me of your daily habits — 
you dine at four, I beheve V 

' That is our hour, but Mr. Waldorf is often detained until five, 
and I never dine without him. For my own part I should not care 
if dinner were stricken from the day. I lunch about one, and with 
tolerable appetite, and I never wish to eat again until supper time. 
We take tea, however at seven, and — ' 

' Green tea, I presume — do you take it strong ?' 

' Oh ! not very, if I take it too strong I do not sleep at all.' 

* You sleep but indifferently, you tell me ?' 

* Yes, generally ; and wake many times in the night ; sometimes 
in the horroi's, so that I am full of undefinable feai-s, and dare not 
open my eyes lest the objects in the room should assume terrific 
shapes. The very shades cast by the night-lamp have power at 
such times to appal me.' 

The doctor's professional inquiries extended to a still greater 
length, but he had guessed Mrs. Waldorfs complaint before he 
arrived at this point in the Hst. He had found solitude, inactivity, 
late hours, suppers, coffee, green tea, music and books — with not 
one counterbalancing item of that labor — effort — sacrifice — which 
has been affixed as the unchanging price of health and spirits. 
Mi-s. Waldorf was one of the hundreds if not thousands of ladies in 
our land who walk through the world without ever discovering the 
secret of life. She had abundant wealth and a most indulgent hus- 
band, with all that this world can offer in point of comfort, and she 



SKETCH OF A CASE. 203 



imagined that health alone was wanting to complete her happiness. 
Passive happiness ! what a dream ! 

Doctor E was at the head of his profession, and he had 

some medicines at his command which are not known at the hospi- 
tals. He thought he could cure Mrs. Waldorf, but he hinted that 
he feared he should find her but a poor patient. 

' You do not wish Mr. Waldorf to know you are under my care 
lest he should object to your neglecting my remedies — ' 

' Oh, indeed doctor, I shall be very faithful ! Try me ! You can- 
not prescribe anything too difficult. Shall I travel to the Pyramids 
barefoot, and live on bread and waiter all the way ? I am only afraid 
Waldorf should insist upon my taking odious drugs, and — ^you 
know cautions meeting one at every turn are so tiresome !' 

' Then you are willing to undertake any remedy which is not at 
all disagi-eeable, and which may be used or omitted a discretion — ^ 

' No, no — indeed you mistake me. I only beg that it may not 
be too unpleasant. I will do just as you say.' 

Mi's. Waldorf now had a fine color, and her eyes sparkled as of 

old. She had every confidence in the skill of Dr. R , and the 

effort of recalling and recounting her symptoms had given an impe- 
tus to her thoughts and a quicker current to her blood. 

The doctor apologized. He had an appointment and his hour 
had come. 

' But before I leave you thus unceremoniously,' he said, ' it strikes 
me that there is a root in my garden which might be of essential 
service to you, to begin with at least. You know I have a little 
spot in which I cultivate a few rare botanical specimens. Might I 
venture to ask you to search for the root I speak of ? It is in that 
little square compartment in the corner, which appears nearly 
vacant.' 



204 THE E7ENJNG BOOK. 



' Oh, certainly — but had I not better call John, as your own man 
is going away with you V 

' John ! Bless my soul, my dear Madam, there is not a John in 
the world that I would trust in my sanctum ! No hand but mine, 
and that of a gardener whom I employ occasionally under my own 
direction, ever intrudes among my pets. Let me entreat you, since 
I have not another moment to spare, to take this little trowel and 
search with your own hands until you discover an oblong white root 
Hke this' — opening a book of botanical plants and exhibiting some- 
thing that looked very much like a Jerusalem artichoke — ' Take that 
and have it washed and grated into a gill of Port, of which try ten 
drops in a little water three times a day. I will see you again very 

soon — but now I must run away — ' and Doctor R departed, 

leaving Mrs. Waldorf in musing mood. 

She cast a look at the garden, which lay just beneath the window, 
full of flowers ; then at the trowel — a strange implement in her 

hand. She thought Doctor R very odd, certainly, but she 

resolved to follow his directions imphcitly. She w^ent down stairs 
and was soon digging very zealously. Her glove was split by the 
first effort, of course ; for a fashionably fitted glove admits not the 
free exercise of the muscles — but all was of no avail. Every cornea* 
of the little square was disturbed, but no tahsman appeared. 
Weary at length of her new employment, Mrs. Waldorf gave up m 
despair, and sat down in a little arbor which offered its shade invit- 
ingly near her. Here she sank into a pleasant reverie, as one can 
scarcely help doing in a garden full of sweet flowers, and so pleasant 
was the sense of repose after labor, that she thought not of the lapse 
of time until she was startled by the voice of Doctor R , re- 
turned from his visit and exceedingly surprised to find her still 
trowel in hand. 



SKETCH OF A CASE. 205 

' Wh}^, my dear Madam,' he exclaimed, ' you are forgetting your 
wish that Mr. Waldorf should not discover your visit to me ! If he 
walks much in town he has had ample opportunity to observe his 
carriage at my door these two hours. You must learn to carry on 
clandestine affiiirs better than this ! Have you the medicine V 

Mrs. Waldorf laughed and related her ill success, w^hich the doctor 
very much regretted, although he did not offer to assist in the 
search. 

' You are feeling tolerably well just now, I think,' he said ; ' your 
color is better than when you came in the morning.' 

' Oh yes ! much better just now ! But how charming your gar- 
den is ! I do not wonder that you make a pet of it. We too have 
a few square inches of garden, but it gives me but little pleasure, 
because I have never done anything to it myself. I think I shall 
get a trowel of my own.' 

' You delight me ! You have only to cultivate and bring to per- 
fection a single bed of carnations, to become as great an enthusiast 
as myself. But it must be done by your own hands — ' 

' Yes, certainly ; but now I must be gone. To-morrow^ I will 
hold myself in readiness to call on our fi'iends at any hour you will 
appoint.' 

' What say you to eleven ? W^ould that be too barbarous ? 
The air is worth a good deal more at eleven than at one.' 

' At seven, if you like ! Do not imagine me so very a slave to 
absurd fashions ! I am determined you shall own me a reasonable 
woman yet.' 

Mrs. Waldorf called from the carriage window — ' You'll not forget 
to send the medicine, doctor V 

' Certainly not ! you shall have it at seven this evening, and I 
trust you will take it with exact regularity.' 



206 THE EVENING BOOK. 



'Do not fear me/ she said, and the doctor made his bow of 
adieu. 

The medicine came at seven, with a sediment which looked not a 
little like gi-ated potato, and without the slightest disagreeable taste. 
Accompanying directions required the disuse, for the present, of 
coffee and green tea ; and recommended to Mi-s. Waldorf a daily 
walk and a veiy early bed-hour. 

The lady took her ten drops at nine, and felt so much better that 
she could not help telling her husband all about her visit to Doc- 
tor R . 

The next morning proved cloudy, and Mrs. Waldorf felt rather 
languid, but after her dose, found an improved appetite for break- 
fast. She sat down to her music, but looked frequently at the 
clouds and at her watch, thinking of her appointment. When the 
hour arrived the envious skies poured down such showers as will 
damp any body's ardor. The drive must be given np for that day, 
and it passed as usual, with only the interlude of the magic drops. 

The next day was as bad, and the day after not a great deal 
better. Mrs. Waldorf's pains and palpitations almost discouraged 
her. She was quite sure she had a liver complaint. But on the 
fourth morning the sun rose gloriously, and the face of nature, clean 
washed, shone with renewed beauty. At eleve-n the carriage and 
the lady were at Doctor R 's door. 

* Have you courage to see an invalid — a sad sufferer V said the 
doctor. 

* Oh, certainly ! I am an invalid myself, you know.' 

' Ah ! my dear lady, my invalid wears a different aspect ! Yet I 
hope she is going to recover, and I shall trust to your humanity if 
the scene prove a sad one. Sickness of the mind was, I think, the 
origin of the evil, but it has almost overpowered the frail body. 



SKETCH OF A CASE. 207 



Tiiis young lady and her mother have been giving lessons in music 
and in Italian, and have had but slender success in the whirl of 
competition. As nearly as I can discover, they came to this coun- 
try hoping to find reverse of fortune easier to bear among strangers ; 
and their course was determined hitherward in consequence of earlier 
family troubles which drove a son of Madame Vamiglia to America. 
He was a hberal, and both displeased his father and put himself in 
danger from government, by some unsuccessful attempt at home. 
The father is since dead, and the old lady and her daughter, left in 
poverty and loneliness, determined on following the young man to 
the new world. But here we are.' 

And they stopped before a small house in a back street. Mrs. 
Waldorf was shown into a very humble parlor, while the doctor 
went to prepare his patient. He returned presently with Madame 
Vamigha, a well-bred woman past middle age. She expressed her 
gi*ateful sense of Mrs. Waldorf's kindness, but their communication 
w^as rather pantomimical, for the lady found her song-Itahan of little 
service, and the signora had not much conversational Enghsh. 

However, with some French, and occasional aid from Doctor R , 

their acquaintance was somewhat ripened before they went to the 
bedside of the suflferer. Mi-s. Waldorf turned pale, and felt ready 
to faint, at the sight which presented itself. 

There was a low, narrow couch in the centre of the room, scarce 
larger than an infant's crib, and on it lay what seemed a mere rem- 
nant of mortahty. Large dark eyes, full of a sort of preternatural 
hght, alone spoke of life and motion. The figure had been always 
extremely small, and was now wasted till it scarce lifted the light 
covering of the mattress. Madame Vamigha went forward and 
spoke in a low tone to her daughter, and Mi-s. Waldorf was glad to 



208 THE EVENING BOOK. 



sink into the chair set for her by Doctor R . The ghastly ap- 
pearance of the poor girl nearly overcame her. 

The mother introduced her guest to her daughter, who could only 
look an acknowledgment ; and then asked the doctor if he thought 
it possible that Ippolita could bear the motion of a carriage. 

' She seems weaker to-day,' he rephed ; ' very weak indeed. 
Yet, if Mrs. Waldorf will allow the mattress to be put in, I think 
we may venture.' 

Madame Vamigha seemed full of anxiety lest the experiment 
should prove too much for the flickering remnant of life ; but after 
much pieparation, John was called, and the poor sufferer transferred, 
mattress and all, to the back seat. Mrs. Waldorf and her mother 
took the front, and in this way they drove slowly out towards the 
country. 

At first the poor httle signorina seemed exhausted almost unto 
death, and her mother watched her with the most agonized sohci- 
tude ; but after a while she became accustomed to the gentle mo- 
tion, and seemed revived by the fresh air. As the road wound 
through a green lane shaded with old trees, Ippohta looked about 
her with animation, and made a sign of pleasure with her wasted 
hand. Tears started to her mother's eyes, and she looked to Mrs. 
Waldorf for sympathy, and not in vain. 

At length the invahd gave a sign, and they turned about. 
When they reached the lodging-house, Ippohta was in a quiet sleep, 
and they carried her back to her own room almost undisturbed. 

' To-morrow at eleven !' whispered Mrs. Waldorf, at parting. 
Madame Vamiglia pressed her hand, but could not speak. 

We need not describe the morning rides which succeeded this 
auspicious commencement. We need not trace step by step, the 
slow amendment of the young Italian, nor attempt to express, by 



SKETCH OF A CASE. 209 



words, the gratitude of both mother and daughter. They felt 
words to be totally inadequate. We may mention, however, the 
rapid improvement of Mrs. Waldorf's health and spirits, which must 

of course be ascribed to that excellent medicine of Dr. R 's. 

This enabled that lady to study Italian most strenuously, both at 
home and by familiar lessons from Madame Vamiglia and her 
daughter, during their prolonged excursions. This pursuit was 
never found to increase the palpitations, and seemed also a specific 
against headache. 

Before Ippohta had so far recovered as to be independent of the 
daily airing, Mrs. Waldorf picked up a new object of interest. We 
say picked up, for it was a road-side acquaintance, and as Mrs. 
Waldorf has since observed, one which she never would have made 
if she had been reading during her drive, as was her custom for- 
merly. She had, every morning for some time, observed a poor 
woman drawing a basket-wagon of curious construction, in which 
lay a child much larger than is usually found in such vehicles. The 
child was pretty, and tastefully, though plainly, drest ; but the 
whole estabhshment bespoke anything but abundant means, so that 
Mi's. Waldorf was puzzled to make out the character of the group. 
The woman had not the air of a servant, and yet the child did 
not look as if it could be her child. In short, after seeing 
the same thing a dozen times, Mi-s. Waldorf's curiosity was a good 
deal excited. 

She did not, however, venture to make any inquiries until it so 
chanced that, in the very green lane we have spoken of — the favor- 
ite resort of the grateful Ippolita — they found the poor woman, 
with the child fainting in her arms. Grief and anxiety were painted 
on her honest face, and she was so absorbed in her efforts for the 



210 THE EVENING BOOK. 



recovery of the child that she scarcely answered Mrs. AValdorfs 
sympathizing inquiries. 

* Oh don't trouble yourself, ma'am ! It is nothing new ! She's 
this way very often. It's the hoopin'-cough, ma'am ; and I am 
afeard it'll be the death of her, poor lamb ! in spite of all we can 
do !' And she tossed the child in the air, and fanned its face till the 
breath returned. 

' Is it your own ?' asked Mi-s. Waldor£ 

' No indeed, ma'am ! mine are other guess lookin' children, thank 
God ! This dear babe's mother is a delicate young lady that lives 
neighbor to me, as has a sick husband that she can't leave. Fm a 
washerwoman, ma'am, if you please, and I have to go quite away 
dow^n town every day almost, and so I take this poor thing in my 
basket — it's large enough, you see — and so gives her a turn in the 
open air, 'cause the doctor says it's the open air, if anything that'll 
do her good.' 

* You are very good,' said Mrs. Waldorf, who had listened in a 
kind df reverie, her thoughts reverting to her lonely drives. 

' Oh no, ma'am ! it's far from good I am ! The Lord knows 
that ! But a httle bit of neighborly kindness hke that, is what the 
poor often does for one another, and donH think anything of it, 
neither ! To be sure this babe's mother isn't the likes of me, 
ma'am, but she is far worse off than she has been. Her husband is 
what they call an accountant — a kind of clerk, hke ; and he can't 
get no employ, and I think it's breaking his heart pretty fast.' 

Here Mrs. Waldorf fairly burst into tears. ' Tell me where you 
live,' she said, ' and say nothing to this lady you speak of, but come 
to me to-morrow^, will you ?' and she put a card into the poor 
woman's hand. 



SKETCH OF A CASE. 211 



* Surely I will ma'am,' said the washerwoman, ' and it's a kind 
heart you have !' 

Mi's. Waldorf rode home with her heart and head fulL ' How 

could I ever content myself with giving money^ she said to herself, 

' wlien there is so much to he done P 

^ % % * ^ 

' How do you find yourself, this morning, my dear madam !' said 

Doctor , shortly after this. 

' Oh, quite well, thank you !' 

' What ! no more lassitude ! no more headaches !' 

' Nothing of the sort, I assure ! I never felt better. 

* When did your symptoms abate V 

' I can scarcely tell ; I have been too much occupied of late, to 
think of symptoms. I am so much interested in the study of 
Italian that I am going to ask Madame Vamiglia and her daughter 
to come to us for awhile, and we shall have Adelaide at home to 
take advantage of so good an opportunity for learning to converse.' 

' And your ardor in searching out the distressed has been the 
means of restoring the son to the mother. How happy you must 
be?' 

' That is a happiness which I owe to you ! and Mr. Waldorf is 
going to employ Mr. Vamiglia, who understands and wTites half a 
dozen different lano'uao-es, and will be invaluable to him. But fiist 
the family are to go to the sea-shore for a month, to recruit ; and I 
imagine they will need a good deal of preparation — so that I have 
really no time to be ill.' 

' Then you have given up the going to the Pyramids ?' 

'Ah! my dear sir! I must thank you for showing me better 
sources of interest and excitement. I believe it must have been a 



212 THE EVENING BOOK. 



little ruse on your part — say ! was not that famous medicine of 
youi-s only a trick — an inganno felice P 

* A trick ! Oh ! excuse me ! * CaU it by some better name !' I 
beseech you,' said the doctor laughing, ' it was a most valuable medi- 
cine ! Indeed the whole Materia Medica would be often powerless 
without the placebo ! But I confess I could not think of sending 
you to the Pyramids, when there are not only pp-amids but moun- 
tains of sorrow and suffering at home, which shun the eye of com- 
mon charity, but which must be surmounted by just such heads, 
hearts and purses as those of Mi-s. Waldorf P 



THE DARK SIDE. 

' We may predict a man's success in life from his spirits,' says Mr. / 
Emei-son (viva voce, if not in his published lectures). Not from his 
spirit, surely, or so many of the loveliest would not be for ever toil- 
ing on the lower rounds of life's ladder, while those who know not 
what manner of spirit they are of, and would be ashamed to look 
the truth in the face if it were presented to them, are sitting coolly 
at the top, or waving their hats in triumph at the moist-browed 
throng below. A man's spirit — made up of his honesty, his meek- 
ness, his patience, his humihty, his charity, his sympathy — will not 
insure his success, allowing the world to be judge of success, as it 
claims to be. Animal spirits go much further towards it : and per- 
haps Mr. Emerson meant these. They are the world's sine qua 
non. It never sympathizes with one's depression. Grief it asm 
understand, because there is vivacity in grief. It respects passion, 
for passion has movement and energy. But the man who can be 
discoui'aged by any stroke of fate whatever, it sets down as a pol- 
troon, and if it turn not the cold shoulder of contempt upon him, it 
either treats him as a foil, or a stepping-stone, or it goes round as if 
he had never existed. 

This discipline of Mother World seems somewhat hard to the life- 



214 THE EVENING BOOK. 



pupil. Like the rattan, or the slipper of nnrsery-traiiiing, it is rather 
pungent and irritating, for the time, than convincing or restorative. 
But like those balmy bitters, it saves a world of crude philosophizing 
when we have learned to consider it inevitable. As the rod fur- 
nishes the only royal road to learning, so the world's neglect offers 
the man who has not patience and courage for the beaten track, a 
short-cut to common sense ; happy if egotism have not so befilmed 
his mental sight, that the iron finger points in vain the upward 
path! 

These remarks, however, apply only to ordinary gi'umblers — the 
immense class of the great unappreciated, whose sense of their own 
merits wraps them all over hke a cloak, so that out-siders may be 
excused if they pass by unconscious. There are others whose spirits 
fall below the tone required for the life-struggle, through mere tender- 
ness and humility. These could be tolerably cheerful under their 
own troubles, if that were all ; but it is a necessity of their nature to 
become so completely interwoven with the fate and feelings of those 
whom they find about them, that no thread can be snapped without 
disturbing them. Their indentity is diffused, as it were ; they have 
a great frontier lying open to the enemy. Their house of life has 
so many windows for the sunshine, that every blast finds entrance. 
They become egotists through mere forgetfulness of self, since all the 
misfortunes of those they love are personal to them, and lead, like 
common egotism, to a morbid sensibility. We may exaggerate the 
troubles of our friends, as well as our own, and fall into despondency 
as proxy as well as principal. 

This evil being the result of experience, it must be cured, homoeo- 
pathically, by more experience. Hard rubs have no place in the 
treatment of such cases. As " amiable" people are apt to be \ery 
obstinate, so amiable weaknesses defy all direct efforts at reform. If 



THE DARK SIDE. 215 



tliey do not cure themselves they are hopeless. Their owners are 
the last to believe them troublesome or inconvenient, as the Valai- 
sans are said to consider their habitual goitre rather an ornament 
than otherwise. 

But we may, perhaps, better illustrate the idea which set our pen 
in motion, by a sketch of the circumstances under which a certain 
pei-son, whom we may as well call John Todd as anything else, came 
to consider himself as being de trop in the world. He had some 
apology, as the reader will allow. 

He was the eldest son in a household whose head was just 
so much worse than the head of a bad pin that it did not come off, 
although decidedly of no use to any one, even the owner ! Why 
such men are called to preside over tables badly covered in 
proportion as they are well surrounded, seems strange, but not so 
strange as the fact that they are apt to be quite jolly, rather 
personable, and particularly well-dressed people, full of wonder 
at the obstinate toiling and moiling of the world around them, and 
very severe upon the avarice of those who, having worked hard for 
their money, are disposed to be over-careful of it. They are 
always men of the most generous feelings ; wishing for a million of 
dollars that they might have wherewithal to help everybody that 
needs help, and contriving ingenious plans of relief for all those ills 
of hfe which are supposed to lie within the curative powers of ready 
cash. As to their own means of living, they are invariably on the 
brink of becoming suddenly rich ; either by the death of an uncle, 
who went to sea when he was a boy and has never been heard of 
since, and therefore must come home a nabob ; or by the advanced 
value of land in the Northwest Territory, bought of the Indians at 
the rate of a gallon of whiskey the quarter section, twenty years 
ago, and on which no taxes have as yet been demanded ; or from 



216 THE EVENING BOOK. 



the success of an entii-ely new branch, of business, devised by the 
jolly man himself, and entered into with much zeal by his crony and 
double, Jack Thompson, who offers to be the outdoor partner, 
making the thin^ popular, by persuading people it is just what they 
want. Some form of ' speculation ' it must be ; for this order of 
genius finds mere industry di-eadfuUy slow. 

John Todd, then, was the son of a gentleman, i. e., of a man 
who had nothing, and who did nothing, or next to nothing, for his 
living, yet lived very well, and entertained very high sentiments. 
We need hardly say that Mrs. Todd, the mother, who luckily had 
had a very small annuity, secured to her by the foresight of an 
elder brother, was one of those hard-working, devoted creatures, 
who seem to have no indi^^dual existence, but to have been born the 
adjunct and complement of such men. How and where she found 
bread for the family, — to say nothing of beef, — was a mystery to 
the neighbors, to whose apprehension Mr. Todd seemed to do 
nothing but soil white waistcoats and plaited shirt-frills, lest his 
wife should get out of business. Not but he went down town every 
day ; that was one of the duties held sacred in his estimation. 
But what he did there no echo ever betrayed, though the dinner 
hour never failed to find him punctually at home, generally 
complaining of fatigue, or at least exhaustion. Mi-s. Todd was 
generally too weary to come to the table, which her husband 
excused v/ith great amenity, kindly advising her to lie down and 
take a nap, as he could make out very well, which he certainly did. 
Some people took it into their heads that he was the invalid 
who dechned giving his little daughter the last half of the seven- 
teenth dumpling, saying, ' Papa's sick ! ' but this we cannot 
vouch for. 

Children reared under such auspices are notedly good and 



THE DARK SIDE. 2X1 



dutiful, and so were most of the youthful Todds ; but John, being 
the oldest and ablest, and always his poor mother's right hand man, 
was the apex of the little pyramid, as well in character as in 
stature. Indeed, he never had any childhood. He occupied 
the position of confidential agent to his mother ; a sort of property- 
man and scene-shifter to the needy establishment, where so much 
was to be done with so little. These two held long whispered 
conferences with each other, of which the subjects seldom trans- 
pired — the debates, perhaps, of a committee of ways and means on 
pantaloons or potatoes. Mysterious signs and movements, nods 
and winks, would pass between them occasionally, followed by 
dartings hither and thither on thwart of John, and uneasy glances 
at the door or window on that of his mother, while the Papa Todd 
sat reading the newspaper and fidgeted for his breakfast, and 
the children were all huddled about the kitchen fire, because they 
must not disturb their ' poor father.' It was a great thing to be so 
preserved from selfishness as that family was, by its head taking all 
the risks of indulgences on his own shoulders. The virtue of 
self-denial, so beautiful to look at, became habitual ^vith most of the 
members ; and the father regarded this excellent quality in his 
household with a serene complacency quite edifying to behold. 

It was a time of great trial to the mother when John was 
considered old enough to be put to business, an epoch which 
arrived much earHer in the judgment of Mr. than of Mrs. Todd. 
' It ruins a boy to be brought up in idleness ! ' said he. ' IdlenCvSS ! ' 
thought the mother, but she said nothing, and her beloved factotum 
was placed with a merchant, who looked at him with much the 
same sort of interest with which one regards a new broom or a pair 
of bellows, which come in to supply the place of a worn-out article 
of household service. Here was a new page of life for our 



218 THE EVENING BOOK. 



poor little fi-iend, who had always, amid the general dreariness of 
his lot, had 

" Light upon him from his mother's eyes," 

at least. 

Here were new^ duties, new and mocking faces, long, laborious 
days, uneheered by one kind word of encouragement, and a general 
consciousness that a boy in a store is only a necessary evil, out 
of whom it is everybody's business to get as much work as possible, 
by v>\iy of compensation for enduring his awkwardness. The boy 
had learned, somehow, that there is such a thing as fun in the 
world, and had even discovered nome capacity for it in himself, 
though he had deferred the use of it under the emergencies of 
home-hfe. But he soon found there must be a still further 
postponement of the laughing era. All was grave about him, 
so grave that nothing short of a hyena could have ventured upon a 
laugh there, and poor John was anything but a hyena in disposition. 
So he learned to withdraw^ into himself and paint pictures of an 
ideal future, when his present probation should result in a pleasant 
and plentiful home for his parents, where his father need not have 
to complain of fatigue, and his mother should sit all day by the 
front window in a rockinsx-chair, never doino" anvthiu"* unless 
she chose ! These visions consoled him under many things, and 
became, indeed, the substitute for hope, in his mind, as similar ones 
are in' many other minds. He wondered why he was not happier. 
His employers were not unV\\\^ to him, and he did not perceive 
that negatives have very little to do with our happiness. His 
laboi-s were no gi-eater than they had been at home, and he was 
better dressed and better fed. It was only the atmosphere of love 
that he missed, yet he pined, in secret, hke a geranium in Greenland, 



THE DARK SFDE. 219 



and became, outwardly, a dull, drudging boy, without power to rise 
above the present by reaching towards the future. 

Home troubles, too, had their share in keeping his heart in 
shadow. His father failed for the dozenth time in some scheme for 
sudden wealth, and several of the better pieces of furniture had 
from time to time mysteriously disappeared from the house, leaving 
blank spaces no less in the imagination of the children than in the 
rooms they had once graced. The story of the Iron Shroud, — a 
prison whose walls advanced daily inward, lessening the walking and 
breathing space of the wretch within, — only shadows forth the 
stealthy but unmistakeable approach of absolute poverty in a family 
like this ; and though the boy's imagination did not body it forth 
thus, his sense of the truth was none the less crushing to his spirits.. 
His poor mother never complained, and, indeed, would hardly 
answer his anxious questions ; but there was a growing sadness 
in her very kisses, which often sent him to bed half choking 
with desponding thoughts, the most prominent of which was that 
of his own miserable inefficiency in the case. A drop of added 
bitterness was the beha\ior of his brother Charles, — the fathei's 
favorite and image, — a handsome, showy boy of twelve or thirteen, 
who ought to have taken John's place as Mrs. Todd's aid and 
comforter, but who chose rather to slip away to play in the street, 
and to do many other things which filled the tender mother's heart 
with anxiety. John often tried to talk a little with his brotlier 
about these matters, but one of the most discourao-inof thinofs in 
Charles's character was a sort of plausibihty or facility, Avhich led 
him to assent to all general propositions in morals, while be 
ingeniously eluded every possible application of any to his own 
conduct. He never got angry at reproof, — a sure sign that he had 
DO idea of profiting by it. Truth excites passion whenever it 



220 THE EVENING BOOK. 



touches us personally, and we may as well fire paper bullets against 
a stone wall, as attempt to apply it to a heart secretly fortified with 
evil intention. Charles's real determination was to take his 
pleasure wherever he could find it, while his instinctive love of 
chai-acter impelled him equally to avoid disgrace. These two aims 
generally lead to hypocrisy, hardly recognised by the sinner 
himself while success lasts ; and Charles Todd was as yet called a 
fine boy by almost everybody, though he was giving his mother and 
his prematurely careful brother many a private heart-ache. 

After John had worked hard for a year, with the hope of earning 
some increase to his pittance, he was discharged with very slight 
warning, his employer observing that he was ' rather dull,' which 
was no doubt true. A bright-looking, well-dressed boy took his 
place ; and he set about, with leaden heart, looking for another, all 
the harder to find because it was necessary he should find it. 
When found at last, it proved to be of a considerably lower tone 
than the first ; — a smaller establishment, and so far mortifying to 
his boyish pride, but otherwise — that is, in the main point of kindly 
interest and sympathy — very similar. And this was the general 
experience of four or five years or so, — a period which may be left 
to the reader's imagination, after the hints we have given. 

Somewhere during this period, Mr. Todd, the father, fell on the 
ice and broke his leg badly, which effectually checked his specula- 
tive as well as ambulative powei-s, and changed the character of his 
wife's toils a Httle without materially increasing them. This acci- 
dent, happening just after John had obtained an increase of salary, 
which raised his hopes a shade or two, seemed to him a final sen- 
tence as to any chance of prosperity in his unlucky career. His 
heart sank within him as he saw his father estabhshed on the old 
skeleton sofa, which had long since ceased to oflfer any temptation to 



THE DARK SIDE. 221 



lounging habits, and his mother and two young sisters sitting by it, 
trying to earn something by means of that suicidal implement, the 
seamstress's needle. It was impossible for him to feel only just 
enough solicitude on their account. The weight of his pity and 
tenderness hung on his hands and heart, lessening his power of aid. 
The too present idea of then* privations led him to reduce even 
his diet below the just measure required for strength and courage to 
a constitution hke his, and to go so shabbily dressed as to lessen 
materially his chance of obtaining better wages. He passed for a 
good, sober, useful fellow, who expected but little, though he was 
wilhng to turn his hand to anything. It is not in human nature to 
give a seedy, threadbare-looking man as much as we would give a 
smartly dressed one, under the same circumstances — a truth not 
very creditable to that nature of ours, and worthy of some examina- 
tion by employers. 

Charles now began to take the lead of his elder brother in all 
respects. His animated manner and frank-sounding words were 
very prepossessing, and he early obtained the situation of book-agent, 
a business for which address may be said to be the first, second, and 
third requisite, though there is perhaps a fourth, of no less conse- 
quence. His pay was irregular, and his outlay for dress consider- 
able ; and although he continued to live at home, he professed him- 
self unable to contribute any fixed sum to the family means, though 
he occasionally made his mother or sisters a present, which loomed 
much larger in then' imaginations than the constant ofierings of 
John, di'opping unperceived hke the dew, and performing as im- 
portant an ofi&ce. Charles always wore the gay and fascinating air 
of success, and it was natural for a mother to be proud of him, and 
to hope everything from him, gladly dismissing the misgivings of 
the past, and persuading herself that Charles had a good heart. 



222 THE EVENING BOOK. 



after all, — a couclusion to which mothei-s are prone to arrive rather 
through the affections than the judgment. 

John, though he felt tempted to envy his brother the facility witli 
^Yh^ch he acquired the reputation of having a good heart, had too 
good a one of his own to view his prosperity with jaundiced eyes 
He was proud of him, too, for there is something bewitching in per- 
sonal advantages, say what we will. 

Yes, there is something bewitching about them, with which rea- 
son has little to do. John had already experienced this, for he had 
fallen in love with a pretty girl of the neighborhood, — an orphan 
who lived with relatives not much disposed to be kind to her, — ^so 
said common report. Susan Bartlett had a dehcate, appeahng kind 
of beauty, which seemed quite as much the result of sensibility as of 
complexion and outhne. The f^imily with whom she found a home 
were rough, coarse people, among whom her air of natural refine- 
ment appeared to great advantage. She was evidently not com- 
fortable in her position, a circumstance nearly as attractive as her 
beauty, to one w^ho fancied himself the ' predestined child of care.' 
If she had looked happy, he would never have dared to love her, 
but her pensive smile encouraged him, and the gentle, half-grateful 
air with which she received his attentions, so excited his languid self- 
complacency, that he had occasionally a gleam of hope that he might 
be somebody to somebody yet. In short, the fii-st rose-tint that fell 
npon his life-stream was from the dawn of this tender passion; and 
Susan's beauty, hghting np her lover's clouds, called forth many a 
golden shimmering air-castle, all ready to be drawn down to earth 
and turned into a comfortable dwelling some day. 

For an hour or more after Susan had shyly owned that she re- 
turned his affection, John wondered that he had ever fancied himself 
doomed to ill-fortune. What was the cold, harsh world to him ! 



THE DARK SIDE. 223 



Susan, like himself, had been used to straitened circumstances, and 
she was willing to share his lot, be it what it might. It was not 
long before he was forced to remember that a lot may be too nar- 
row to be shared with anybody, but his new tahsman did a good 
deal to keep off the foul fiend Despondency, so that his pleasure 
was not turned into pain much more than half the time. 

Mrs. Todd felt appalled, for the moment, when she was told 
of John's engagement. Not only did the condition of the family 
demand more than all the aid the dutiful son could give it, but to 
the cooler eyes of the mother, Susan's temperament and habits were 
ill-calculated to promote the happiness of a poor and very sensitive 
man. Mrs. Todd thought her indolent and inefficient ; wanting in 
force of character, and hkely to take almost any coloring from those 
about her ; but she wisely said nothing, for the matter was settled, 
and she could only grieve her son without the hope of benefit. 
Susan was very sweet and amiable in the family, and much a 
favorite with Mr. Todd, whose dull hours were considerably hght- 
ened by the presence of a pretty girl, who would sometimes read to 
him or entertain him with the gossip of the hour. Charles, too, 
was delighted with his sister-in-law that was to be, and as he had 
much more leisure than John, often took his brother's place as her 
escort, or called upon her as John's proxy when he was necessarily 
detained. 

This period of our hero's hfe was like a dehcious Indian summer, 
when the atmosphere is full of g^en haze, which throws a soft 
illusion over everything, hiding the bareness of reality, and bestow- 
ing a happy indistinctness upon distant objects. Such seasons are 
never long ones. The frosts of truth clear the air and force us to 
think upon the needs of wintry hfe, if we would not wake up to a 
distress which no illusion can gild. No man could be more sincerely 



224 THE EVENING BOOK. 



in love than John Todd ; but, in this case as in others, his goodness 
stood in the way of his happiness. A selfish man would have been 
amply satisfied with the pleasure of being beloved by the woman of 
his choice ; but the good son could not long so forget his old duties 
as not to miss in Susan some of the quahties which would have 
made her a comfort to his mother. His own love was so generous, 
so entu'e ; his heart beat so tenderly for all that could interest Su- 
san, that it was hardly in human nature not to feel some disappoint- 
ment at finding in her no coiTCsponding interest in those so dear to 
him. Susan evidently felt that her position was properly that of an 
idol, which nobody can expect to see come down fi'om its pedestal 
and mingle on equal terms with its worshippei*s. Not that her 
manner was arrogant or assuming ; that was always sweet and 
gentle. It was rather what she omitted than what she did, that 
brought John to the sad conviction that her affections had no ten- 
dency to be led by his, and that he had not succeeded in winning a 
daughter's love for his mother by gi\dng away so largely of his own. 
So fate pursued him. The golden clouds changed to pm-ple, and 
the purple to lead-color, in his mind ; and he felt more keenly than 
ever that he was doomed to be unhappy, since love, which had 
seemed for a time to make every sad thought absurd, had failed to 
satisfy him, as it seemed to do other men, John did not know 
how easily other men are satisfied — sometimes. 

Home affaii-s, meanwhile, certainly had brightened a little. 
Somehow, unaccountably, tb^ family had not become any poorer 
for Mr. Todd's long illness. Much kindness had been brought out 
by the circumstance, and friends had come forward in a way which 
materially aided Mrs. Todd without lowering her self-respect. 
While a man hke Mr. Todd remains at the head of aftairs, there is 
always a kind of simmei-ing indignation among the friends and 



THE DARK SIDE. 225 



relatives of the family, whicli prevents their showing the sympathy 
they cannot but feel for the suffering members. But when he is 
fairly out of the way, cempassion claims its natural course, as in this 
case. A teacher in the neighborhood took two of the girls as free 
pupils, insisting that she could do so without the least cost to herself, 
— a mode of Christian charity more practised by that most laborious 
and ill-paid class than the world at all suspects. Physicians, too, 
discerning the true state of things, either forgot to send their bills at 
all, or made merely nominal charges, as they are doing every day in 
similar cases, with a liberality for which they get little credit. In 
short, even John was obliged to own to himself that a seeming mis- 
fortune may have its bright side, though the conviction did not 
remain present with him constantly enough to make head against 
the bad habit of low spirits. 

Charles, meanwhile, was dashing away as usual, handsome, gay, 
and confident ; now and then sending home some showy, useless 
article to his mother or sistei-s, and sometimes, though more rarely, 
throwing money into their laps, which seemed doubled in value by 
the grace with which it was given. There was no coming at a dis- 
tinct notion of -Hs aflfahs, for a book-agency naturally fluctuates a 
good deal, and refers to ' luck' more than some other kinds of busi- 
ness. But he always seemed to have leisure for visiting, and money 
for amusements, so his mother fought resolutely against intrusive 
fears that there might be something hollow in this prosperity. The 
elder brother was less easily satisfied, for he knew rather more of 
Charles's habits. 

It was not long before his fears were justified. Charles came to 
the store one day, and with an appearance of great agitation asked 
to see his brother apart. 
10* 



226 THE EVENING BOOK. 



* What is tlie matter V said John, whose imagination rushed 
homewards at once, prognosticating evil to the loved ones there.. 

' I've got myself into trouble,' said the other ; and as he had done 
this several times before, his brother felt reheved to find it no worse. 

But further explanation showed him that the present was no ordi- 
nary aflPair. 

' I have lost a sum of money belonging to our firm — ' began 
Charles. 

*Lost! how lost?' • ' 

* Oh ! I've been robbed, but 'tis a long story, and the question is 
now how to get out of the scrape. It is only two hundred dollars !' 

* Only two hundred dollars !' said John aghast, for he had not 
two hundred cents to call his own. 

' What is to be done ? Will not your firm wait till you have 
had time to repay it by degrees ?' 

' Wait ! they must never know it ! I should be ruined for ever 
if they did. Can't you help me ? I could pay t/ou by degrees, 
you know ! You can get an advance on your salary. You always 
stand well with your employei's ; do ask, that's a good fellow, and I 
will promise that this shall be the last time that I will ever trouble 
you.' 

' But you do not consider that this would take the very bread out 
of mother's mouth, and the children's. You know they cannot five 
a week without what I bring them. You must find some other 
resource. Surely your fij.'m must have some confidence in you after 
so long a connexion.' 

' Oh, they are stiflf old fellows, and they've been prejudiced against 
me by one or two Httle matters, such as happen to every young 
man. You are my only hope, for I will never survive disgrace.' 

It is needless to recount the arguments of a man without prin- 



THE DARK SIDE. 227 



ciple, who knew his brother's goodness of heart to be greater than 
his fii'mness. After a very long talk, in the course of which John 
ascertained that the 'robbery' was only the form under which 
Charles chose to represent a loss at the gaming-table, and which he 
professed to beheve the result of fraud, the matter ended as Charles 
knew it would — in John's going, with shame and confusion of face, 
to his employers, and asking an advance of the required sum. The 
distress Avith which he did it was most evident, and the reluctance 
with which his request was granted quite as unmistakeable ; but 
when he met his brother at the appointed time with the money, one 
would have hardly supposed Charles to be the obhged party, so 
easily did he make hght of the whole affair. 

' The old hunkers !" he said, " it will do 'em good to bleed a little. 
After slaving for them so long, it would be pretty, indeed, to be 
refused such a trifle ! You let them impose upon you, John ! If 
you only had a httle more spirit they would treat you better. If 
pur old fellows had been as niggardly with me, I should have left 
them long ago ; but they know better !' 

When John, not attempting to defend himself against the charge 
of wanting spmt, only desired to know what were his brother's pros- 
pects of refunding the money, for want of which the family at home 
must suffer, Charles talked grandly, but vaguely, of some Cahfornian 
propositions that had been made to him, saying he did not know 
whether he should accept them or not, but, at any rate, he should 
pay the money very shortly. 

' Do not wait,' said John, ' for any considerable part of it. Re- 
member poor mother, and all her privations and difficulties. Father 
requires every day more and more care and labor ; for you know he 
is nearly helpless, and it takes quite one person's time to nm-se him. 



228 THE EVENING BOOK. 



Pray hand me, from time to time, every dollar you can spare ; for 
I foresee mucli trouble from this miserable business.' 

'■ Oh, you are always foreseeing trouble,' said Charles, gaily. ' You're 
famous for that. Why don't you look on the bright side, as I do ! 
The world owes us a hving, at least. I'm sure it does me, and I 
mean to have it, too ! I've got half a dozen plans in my head.' 

' I don't hke the California project very well,' said John, as his 
brother was about to leave him. 

' ; perhaps you'll like it better by and by !' was the reply : and 
the brothers separated. 

John went home with a heavy heart ; but he was used to a heavy 
heart, so he said nothing of what had passed. After tea, he called 
for Susan, who had engaged to go \^dth him to some lecture, but 
found her ill with a headache. Her aunt said she had gone to bed, 
and must not be disturbed ! so John went home, and went to bed 
too, not feeling very sorry to be quite alone, that he might reflect, 
undisturbed, upon the state of affairs. He was far from feeling 
satisfied with himself for having yielded to Charles's passionate and 
selfish importunity, what was absolutely necessary to the support of 
the family ; and he could see no way of right, except that of some 
new self-sacrifice, which should make good the deficiency, at least in 
part. After turning over in his mind every possible way of earning 
mony at extra hours, and saving it by excessive abstinence, he fell 
asleep, undecided between an evening class in writing, and the car- 
riership of an early morning paper, which would furnish him with 
employment before daylight, and allow him to reach the store at the 
appointed hour. He rather thought he should try both. 

The next morning his father was worse, so much worse, that he 
would hardly have felt justified in leaving his mother, if the transac- 
tion of the day l)ofore had not made it absolutely necessary that he 



THE DARK SIDE. 229 



sliould appear at the store. He looked so haggard and care-worn^ 
that his employers thought he must be ill, and recommended that 
he should go home, which he gladly prepared to do, mentioning 
his father's dangerous condition. Just as he was locking his desk, 
a note caine from his mother, desii'ing to see him immediately ; 
and he ran home, hardly expecting to find his father still alive. 

But there was no change for the worse, yet his mother was pale 
as ashes, and trembhng all over. 

' Oh, John ?' she said, and that was all. 

* What is it, mother — what can it be ?' 
' Susan — ' 

* Dead !' 

* No, not dead !' and Mrs. Todd held up a letter. 

* Read it, mother,' said John, in a strange, quiet voice, as if he 
was in a magnetic sleep, and could see the contents through the 
paper. 

And Mrs. Todd read : 

* I hardly dare take the pen to write to you, John, yet it seems 
better than leanng you without a word. I shall not try to excuse 
myself, but I feel sure I should never have been happy, or have 
made you happy, if I had kept to our engagement only for shame's 
sake. I did love you at the beginning ; I was not deceitful then ; 
but afterwards I learned to love another better, and for this you are 
partly to blame. You are too grave and serious for me : I have 
not spirits enough for us both. I always felt down-hearted after we 
had been together, although you were always so kind and good. 
Do not fret about this ; fall in love with somebody else — somebody 
that is gay and hght-hearted. I know I am running a great risk, 
and very likely shall be sorry that I ever left a man so good as you 



230 THE EVENING BOOK. 



are for one who is more pleasant, but not any better, not so good, 
perhaps. I would have told you sooner, but could not make up my 
mind. God bless you and farewell. 

■ 'Susan.' 

' Another ! another !' said John ; ' what other ?'' Nobody spoke. 
There was a sort of shuddering guess in the bottom of the heart of 
several of the family, but no one could endure to suggest it. 

* Nobody knows,' said Mi-s. Todd ; ' Susan left the house alone, 
they say.' 

John went to his own room, and locked himself in for some 
houi-s. In the evening a gentleman called, and asked to see him 
alone. It was one of the fiim in whose employ Charles had been 
for some yeai*s. 

' Have you been aware of your brother's intention of going to 
Cahfornia ?' said Mr. . 

* To California ! No — ^yes — that is, I have heard him say he had 
had ofFei^ to go there.' 

'You do not know then, that he sailed in the packet of to-day ? 

John could but repeat the words, half stupified. 

' Did not the family know of his marriage ? He was married 
just before he went on board, as we understand.' 

All was now clear enough as to Susan ; but John had yet to 
learn that, instead of having lost money at play, as he pretended, 
Charles had received a considerable sum for the house within a day 
or two, and only borrowed of his brother to increase his means for 
the elopement. 

That evening Mr. Todd grew rapidly woi-se, and at midnight he 
died. 

It is recorded of one of the heroic Covenanters who were sub- 



THE DARK SIDE. 251 



jected to the hideous punishment of the boot — which consisted in 
enclosing the leg in an iron case and driving in a wedge upon the 
bone — that after the second stroke upon the wedge he was observed 
to laugh, which naturally excited the curiosity of those whose busi- 
ness it was to torture him. ' I laugh,' said he, ' to think I could 
have been so foolish as to dread the second blow, since the firet 
destroyed all sensation.' 

It was not long before John Todd was aware of a sort of cheer- 
ftdness arising from the sense that he had reached the extreme 
point of misery. It acted as a tonic upon his mind, as the heart- 
burn of acidity is relieved by lemonjuice. He felt more like a man 
than he had ever done in his hfe. This was proved, even to his 
own astonishment, when he found himself stating his position to his 
employers, from whom he had just borrowed a large sum (for him), 
and requesting of them a farther advance. This they granted with 
alacrity, for he had asked it with honest confidence. 

' We should be glad to see you as soon as convenient ; — we have 
something to say to you,' said the elder merchant. 

Two days before, this request would have made John's very heart 
quake, for his timidity would, have prompted prognostics of evil ; 
but now he felt bold and strong, and promised readily to be at the 
store as soon as he could leave home. He began to think it rather 
pleasant to be in despair. 

After the funeral was over, and the succeeding blank pressed hard 

upon him, he bethought him of the request of Messrs. . On 

the way he had a return of his old feelings, and began to paint to 
himself the horrors of being turned oflf ; but he soon drove them 
away with the thought that there were many more places in the 
world, and his own chance as good as another man's. 

The object of the business conference was to propose to John 



232 THE EVENING BOOK. 



Todd a share in tlie concern, the proprietors not being of the class 
with whom modesty hides merit. They had observed in him both 
industry and abihty, joined with the most transparent honesty and 
truth of character, and they were wise enough to wish to secure 
him. Happily good spirits are not so much missed in a counting- 
house as in some other places. 

The care of the family now devolving more obviously upon him, 
• he removed them into a smaller but more comfortable house than 
had suited his father's notions, and had the happiness of seeing his 
mother relieved from the more harassing portion of her cares and 
labors, and at liberty to rest sometimes, which was a new thing in 
her overdriven life. His own private troubles he never mentioned, 
and the subject was dropped by common consent, though the woe- 
worn face of Mrs. Todd was, in spite of herself, a perpetual memento 
of the whole sad past. 

At the end of some eight or ten months, news came from San 
Francisco that Charles had died of the disease of the country, just as 
he was about to be seized on the charge of embezzlement. John 
thought at once of Susan, unworthy as she was, and fearing she 
might suffer want among strangers, would fain have urged her 
return ; but he resisted the impulse of a tenderness that might 
have been weakness, and only wrote to a friend in Cahfornia to see 
that his brother's widow did not lack the ordinary comforts. In 
spite of this wise resolution his mind was a good deal disturbed by 
the image of his first love, until Susan fortunately broke the spell 
by marrying at San Francisco an emigrant of no immaculate fame. 

This completed John's recovery, and made a man of him. As 
he had at first loved Susan from pity — a wretched reason for a life- 
love — so he might have loved her again from pity, since he ascribed 
her a]>orration rather to weakness than to deliberate treacherv. Now 



THE DARK S[DE. 233 



he saw lier as she was, a poor, vacillating, seliish creature, devoid of 
every desirable quality, — unless we reckon as such a quiet and gen- 
tle manner, the result of temperament, not principle ; not the 
woman to whom a man of tolerable sense could safely intrust his 
happiness and honor. The recollection of Charles was bitter, 
indeed ; but his career had borne its legitimate fruit, and there was 
mitigation in the thought that the disgrace of a public trial and 
imprisonment had been spared them all. 

John's complete restoration was not rapidly accomplished, but 
hke other recoveries from typhus, subject to relapses. But he 
never fell back entirely. Braced by misfortune, his nerves were 
strung for lesser ills, and his unhappy habit of self-depreciation — 
the most dangerous form of egotism, since it borrows the specious 
semblance of humility, though it is often nothing less than rank 
pride — was cured by the testimony of experience. The happiness 
of being everything to his mother and her children was of itself 
healing to his wounded self-love, and in due time he married a 
woman very different from Susan Bartlett, since her attractions were 
her own, and not those of circumstance. John Todd finished by 
owning himself happy. 

We have all this time said no word of our hero's religion, because 
we do not think a man's religion worth speaking of, so long as he is 
determined to be his own Providence, and refuses to intrust the 
main web of his hfe to the weaving of the Unerring Hand. In 
truth, wilh all his goodness it was only the occurrences we have 
naiTated that taught him the w^holesome lesson of dependence and 
submission, and convinced him that if he made his happiness depend 
upon freedom from misfortune, he must go through life under a 
cloud. He perceived that he had taken too much upon him^-elf ; 
and his view of his own private responsibility for everything that 



234 THE EVENING BOOK. 



could possibly befall himself and his friends, was much modified, 
without any diminution of sensibility or efficiency. And here let 
us leave our exemplar, praying the reader's patience and pardon if 
John Todd has seemed to them only an essay in disguise. 




(S(DyiJ^: 



COURTING BY PROXY. 

A TALE OF NEW YORK. 

Young Mr. Alonzo Romeo Rush was dreadfully in love — as, 
indeed, which of us is not? Everybody has a passion, though, 
fortunately, the objects are infinitely various. Mr. Alonzo was 
in love with himself for a year or two after he took leave of 
childhood and milk-and-water ; but after that his grandmanama 
told him he ought to many, and he forthwith fell violently in love 
with his future wife, and vowed to allow himself no rest till he had 
found her. This may be termed ' love in the abstract,' which, 
as we shall see, is not without its perplexities. 

Mr. Alonzo was a darhng boy, an orphan, and the heir of a good 
Knickerbocker fortune. His grandmamma was his guardian, in 
a sense beyond the cold, legal meaning of the term.. She picked 
the bones out of his fish, and reminded him of his pocket- 
handkerchief, during all the years of his tenderer boyhood ; and, 
until he was full fourteen yeai*s old, he slept in her room, and had 
his face washed by her own hands, in warm water, every morning. 
Even after he called himself a man, she buttered his muffins and 
tucked up his bed-clothes, with a solicitude above all praise. 



236 THE EVENING BOOK. 



Thanks to her care and attention, he reached the age of twenty-one 
in safety, excepting that he was very subject to colds, which 
alarmed his venerable relative extremely ; and excepting also that 
he showed an unaccountable liking for the society of a httle 
tailoress who had always made his clothes during his minority. 

But now, as we have said, he was dreadfully in love ; and what 
made his situation the more puzzling was that his grandmamma, in 
her various charges, had entirely omitted to specify the lady to 
whom his devotions ought to be paid. She even urged him to 
choose for himself. What a responsibility ! 

* Only remember, Alonzo,' said the good lady, ' that you will 
never be happy with a girl that does not like muffins, and that it is 
as easy to love a rich girl as a poor one.' 

' Yes,' responded Mr. Alonzo, with rather an absent air ; ' yes, 
and as to muffins — ' here he sunk into a reverie. 

' Grandma ! ' exclaimed the darling, after some pause, ' couldn't 
you ask Parthenia Bhnks here to tea ? ' 

* Certainly, my dear,' said the good lady, and she rang the 
bell at once, preparatory to the making of several kinds of cake, and 
various other good things. 

The invitation was duly sent, and as duly accepted by Miss 
Parthenia Blinks, who found it politic always to accept an invitation, 
that she might do as she pleased when the time came — a practice 
fully adopted by many fashionables. 

The time did come, and there was the tea-table, set out with four 
kinds of preserves, arranged with the most exact quadrangularity ; 
in the centre a large basket heaped with cake, and at the sides two 
mountains of toast and muffins ; tea, coffee, and various accessories 
completing the prospect. 

The fine old Knickerbocker pai-lor was in its primest order, every 



COURTING BY PROXY. 23' 



cliair standing exactly parallel mth its brother ; tlie tea-kettle 
singing on its chafing-dish, the cat purring on the hearth-rno-. Two 
sofas, covered with needle- work, w^ere drawn up to the fire, and the 
mandarins on the chimney-piece nodded at each other and at 
the pink and azure shepherds and shepherdesses which ornament^ 
the space between them. Mr. Alouzo Eomeo Rush stood before 
the glass, giving the last twirl to an obstinate side-lock, which, in 
spite of persuasion and pomatum, would obey that fate called a 
cow-hck. 

An impetuous ring at the door. The httle tailoress, who had 
been gi\ing a parting glance at her own handy-work, slipped out of 
the room, sighing softly ; and Aionzo and his grandmamma seated 
themselves on the opposite sofas, for symmetry's sake. 

A billet in a gilded envelope. Miss Parthenia Blinks' regrets. 
' What an impudent thing ! ' said the old lady, with a toss of 
her cap. (We do not know whether she meant the act or the 
young lady.) ' But come, my dear, you shall eat the muflSns, and 
never mind her. The next time I ask Miss Blinks it- will do 
her good, I know.' 

Mr. Aionzo, nothing daunted by this mortifying slight, turned 
his thoughts next to Miss Justina Cuypers, a young lady who 
resided with two maiden aunts in a house which had suffered 
but httle change since the Revolution. The fii-st step which 
suggested itself to the darling, was to ask ]\|i6s Cuypei-s to ride ; 
but to reach this golden apple the amifs must be propitiated, 
and therefore it was judged best that grandmamma should make 
one of the party, in order that none of the proprieties might be 
violated. Aionzo was charioteer, but, as he was not much accus- 
tomed to driving, his gi-andmamma felt it her duty to take the 
reins out of his hands very frequently, besides giving him many 



238 THE EV^ENING BOOK. 



directions as to which rein he ought to pull, in meeting the 
numerous vehicles which they encountered on the Harlem road. 
"Whether from the excess of his passion for Miss Cuypers, who 
never spoke once the whole way, or whether from the confusion 
incident to reiterated instructions, poor Mr. Alonzo did finish the 
drive by an overtm-n, which did not kill anybody, but spoiled the 
young lady's new bonnet, and covered her admu-er with mud and 
mortification. 

The failure of these kindly attempts of his grandmamma to save 
him the trouble of getting a wife, taught Mr. Alonzo a lesson. He 
di'ew the astute inference that old ladies were not good proxies 
in all cases. He even thought of taking the matter into his 
own hands, and with this view it was not long before he set out, 
like a prince in a fairy tale, to seek his fortune. 

The first house he came to — that is to say, the one to which his 
footsteps tm-ned most natm-ally — was one belonging to a distant 
connection of his grandmamma, a lady whose ancestor came over 
with Hendrik Hudson, or, as the family chroniclers insisted, a httle 
before. Miss Alida Van Der Benschoten, the daughter of this 
lady— a fi-esh sprout from the time-honored tree — might have been 
known to Alonzo, but that he had always hidden himself when her 
mamma brought her to pay her annual visit to his grandmamma. 
She resided with her mother, one ancient sister, and two great rude 
brothei-s, on the bordei*s of the city, in one of those tempting 
ruralities called cottages, built of brick, three stories high, and 
furnished with balconies and verandahs of cast iron, all very 
agricultural indeed, as a certain lady said of a green door. The 
idea of Miss Alida being once entertained, the shrubberies about the 
Van Der Benschoten cottage, consisting of three altheas, a privet 
hedge, and a Madeira vine, seemed to invite .a Romeo, and our 



COURTING BY PROXY. 239 



hero resolved to open his first act with a balcony scene. Not that 
he had a speech ready, for if he had he would have delivered it in 
the parlor ; but he had heard much of the power of sweet sounds, 
and conceived the idea of trying them upon the heart of Miss 
Ahda before he ventured upon words, as Hannibal, (wasn't it?) 
having rocks to soften, tried vinegar before pickaxes. Having often 
encountered bands of music in the streets at night — or rather in 
the evening, for his grandmamma never allowed him to be out after 
ten — he concluded the business of these patrols to be serenading ; 
and, making great exertions to find one of the most powerful 
companies, he engaged then* leader to be in full force before- 
Mrs. Van Der Benschoten's door on a certain evening, resolved 
himself to he perdu^ in a convenient spot, ready to speak if the young; 
lady should appear on the balcony, as he did not doubt she would. 
The Coryphaeus of the band was true to his promise, and he and' 
his followers had played with all their might for half an hour or so, 
when, observing no demonstration from the house, and feeling 
rather chilly, they consulted their employer as to the propriety of 
continuing. 

* Oh ! go on, go on,' whispered Mr. Alonzo ; * she isn't waked up 
yet !' (The youth understood the true object of a serenade.) ' Play 
away till you hear something.' 

And, on the word, Washington's March aroused the weaiy 
echoes, if not Miss Ahda. 

This new attack certainly was not in vain. A window was softly 
opened, and as the band, inspired by this sign of life, threw new 
vigor into their instrumentation, a copious shower of boots, boot- 
jacks, billets of wood, and various other missiles, untuned the 
performers, who, in spite of the martial spirit breathed but just 
before, all ran away forthwith. 



240 THE EVENING BOOK. 



Mr. Alouzo scorned to follow, particularly as lie had a snug berth 
under one of the three altheas ; but a voice crying " Seek him — 
seek him, Vixen !' and the long bounds of a dog in the back yard 
dislodged him, and he made an ignominious retreat. 

We dare not describe the dreams of om- hero that night ; but we 
record it to his everlasting credit that he was not disheartened by 
this inauspicious conclusion of his daring adventure. He ascribed 
the I'ude interruption, very correctly, to one of Miss Alida's brothers ; 
and every time he met one of them in the street he used to tell his 
grandmamma of it when he came home, always adding that he only 
wished he knew v/hether that was the one ! 

Music was still a good resoui'ce, and Mr. Alonzo resolved to try it 
in another form. He knew a young gentleman who played the 
guitar, and sang many a soft Spanish ditty to its seductive twang- 
ing ; and, as this youth happened to be a good-natured fellow, and 
one who did a large amount of serenading on his own account, it 
was not difficult to persuade him to attempt something for a friend. 

So, when next the fair moon favored the stricken-hearted, the two 
young men, choosing a spot of deepest shade, beset Miss AUda with 
music of a far more insidious character than that first employed by 
the inexperienced Alonzo. Few female hearts can resist the influ- 
ence of such bewitching airs as those with which good-natured 
Harry Blunt endeavored to expound his Mend's sweet meanings ; 
and, after a whole round of sentiment had rung from the guitar, and 
the far sweeter tenor of its owner, a window opened once more, and 
poor Mr. Alonzo scampered off incontinent. 

Harry, who had not been exposed to the storm which rewarded 
the previous serenade, stood his ground, and had the satisfaction of 
picking up a dehcate bouquet which fell just before him in the 



COURTING BY PROXY. 241 



moonlight. This he carried, most honorably, to his friend, whom he 
supposed to be already in Miss Alida s good graces. 

* What shall I do V said Mr. Alonzo, who had a dim perception 
of the responsibiUty attached to this favor from a lady. 

* Do !' exclaimed Harry, laughing, ' why, order a splendid one at 
N — 's, and send a servant with it to-morrow, with your comph- 
ments.' 

' So I will ! — see if I do n't,' said Mr. Alonzo, delighted. ' I'll get 
one as big as a dinner-plate.' 

In pursuance of this resolve, he called up an old family servant, 
and, locking the door, gave him ample directions, and in the most 
solemn manner. 

' And mind, Moses,' said young master, ' get one of the very 
largest size, and give whatever they ask.' Hapless Alonzo ! Why 
not put on thy hat, and go forth to choose thy bouquet in person ? 
Moses took the ten-dollar note which Alonzo handed him, and 
departed with injunctions to utmost speed and inviolable dis- 
cretion. 

Mr. Alonzo paced the floor, with the air of a man who, having 
done his best, feels that he ought to succeed, tiU at length the 
returning steps of his messenger greeted his ear.' 

' Well, Mose ! have you carried it ? Did you get a handsome 
one ? Did you see her ? What did she say V 

Poor Mose showed the entire white of his eyes. 

* Why Massa,' said he, ' you ax me too manj questions to oust. 
I got him, and I carried him to Miss Van Der Benschoten's house, 
but I no see the young woman ; but I tell the colored gentleman at 
the door who sent him.' 

' That was right,' said Mr. Alonzo ; but was it large and hand- 
some Moses V 

11 



242 THE EVENING BOOK. 



' Monstrous big, Massa ; big as dat stand any bow ! And here's 
the change ; I beat Mm down a good deal, for be ask two sbillin, 
and I make him take eighteen pence.' 

And it was with much self-complacency that good old Moses 
pulled out of his pocket a handful of money. 

* Change !' said Mr. Alonzo, with much misgiving, ' change — 
eighteenpence — two shiUings — what are you talking about ? What 
kind of flowers were they ? 

* Oh ! beautiful flowers, massa. There was pi'nies and laylocks, 
and paas-blumechies, and eberyting !' 

"We will only say that if hard words could break bones, poor old 
Moses would not have had a whole one left in his body — but of 
what avail ? 

Next day came out invitations for a large party at Mrs. Yan Der 
Benschoten's, and Harry Blunt, who had been spied out by one of 
the beUigerent brothers of Miss Alida, and recognized as the hero 
of the serenade a V Espagnol, was invited, while our poor friend, 
Alonzo, was overlooked entirely, in spite of the laugh which his 
elegant bouquet had afforded the young ladies. 

The morning after the party, Alonzo encountered his friend 
Harry, who had been much sui-prised at his absence. 

' Why didn't you go ?' he asked ; ' it was a splendid affair. I 
heard of your bouquet, but I explained, and you need not mind. 
Write a note yourself — that will set all right again.' 

' Would you really ?' said Mr. Alonzo, earnestly. 

* To be sure I would ! Come, do it at once.' 

But Alonzo recollected that he had not yet found much time to 
bestow on his education, so that the wi'iting of a note would be 
somewhat of an undertaking. 

' Can't you do it for me ?' said he ; you are used to these things.' 



COURTING BY PROXY. 243 



Oh, yes, certainly,' said the obliging Harry, and lie dashed off a 
very pretty note, enveloped it, comme il faut^ and directed it to 
Miss Van Der Benschoten, Humming-Bird Place. 

A most obliging answer was returned — an answer requiring a 
reply ; and, by the aid of his friend Harry, Mr. Alonzo Romeo 
Rush kept up his side of the correspondence with so much spirit, 
that, in the course of a few weeks, he was invited to call at the 
rural residence, with an understanding on all sides that this inter- 
view was to be the end of protocols, and the incipient stage of defini- 
tive arrangements which would involve the future happiness of a 
pair of hearts. 

It was an anxious morning, that which fitted out Mr. Alonzo 
Romeo Rush for this expedition. His grandmamma washed and 
combed him, and the little tailoress brushed his clothes, picking off 
eveiy particle of lint with her slender fingers, and thinking when 
she had done, that he stood the very perfection of human lovehness. 

* Thank you, Mary,' said he, very kindly, and, as he looked at 
her, he could not but notice the deep blush which covered a cheek 
usually pale for want of exercise and amusement. 

However this was no time to look at tailoresses ; and Mr. Alonzo 
was soon on his way to Humming-Bird Place. 

How his hand trembled as he fumbled for the bell-handle, and 
how reminiscences crowded upon him as he saw on the step a large 
dog which he knew by intuition to be the very Vixen of the sere- 
nade. Then to think of what different circumstances he stood in 
at present ! Oh ! it was overpowering, and Mr. Alonzo was all in 
a perspiration when the servant opened the door. 

' Is Miss Van Der Benschoten at home V 

* Yes, sir 1' A low bow. * Walk up stairs, sir V 

Another low bow. The servant must have guessed his errand. 



244 THE EVENING BOOK. 



He was ushered into a twilight drawing'-room, and sat down, his 
heart throbbing so that it made the sofa-ciishions quiver. 

Hark ! — a footstep — a lady — and in another instant Mr. Alonzo 
had taken a small hand without venturing to look at the face of the 
owner. He had forgotten to make a speech, so he held the little 
hand and meditated one. 

At- length he began — ' Miss Van Der Benschoten, my grand- 
mamma — ' and here, at fault, he looked up inadvertantly. 

' What is the matter, Mr. Rush !' exclaimed the lady. 

* I — am sick — ' said Alonzo, making a rush for the street door. 
The lady was the elder sister of Miss AHda, diminutive, ill- 
formed, and with such a face as one sees in very severe nightmare. 

Alonzo reached his grandmamma's, and the first person he met 
as he dashed through the hall was the httle tailoress. 

We know not if he had made a Jeptha-like vow in the course of 
his transit ; but he caught the hand of his humble friend, and said, 
with startling energy, 

* Mary !' will you marry me V 

* I ! I !' said the poor girl, and she bui-st into teare. 

But Alonzo, now in earnest, found no lack of words ; and the 
result was that he drew Mary's arm through his, and half led, half 
carried her, straight to his grandmamma's sofa. 

' Grandma !' said he, ' This shall be my wife or nobody. I have 
tried to love a rich girl, but I love Mary without trying. Give us 
your blessing, grandma, and let's have the wedding at once.' 

The old lady, speechless, could only hold up both hands ; but 
Alonzo, inspired by real feehng, looked so different from the soul- 
less darling he had ever seemed, that she felt an involuntary respect 
which prevented her opposing his will very decidedly. It was not 



COURTING BY PROXY. 245 



long before he obtained an absolute permission to be happy in his 
own way. Wise grandmamma ! — say we. 

Mary was always a good girl, and riding in her own carriage has 
made her a beauty, too. She is not the only lady of the ' aucune' 
family who flom-ishes within our bounds. As for our friend Alonzo, 
he smiles instead of sighing, as he passes Humming-Bird Place. 



GROWING OLD GRACEFULLY. 

One would tliink the art of growing old gracefully would form a 
prominent study with at least that portion of human race which is 
happy enough to take an aesthetic view of common things. For 
what can be a more universal concern ? Who is heroically vain 
enough to desire that departing charms should carry hfe with 
them ? "Who is not hable to hve beyond the time when to be is to 
be charming ? 

It may safely be taken for granted, that every one hkes to please ; 
there are hardly exceptions to prove the rule. Whatever subtile 
disguises this love of pleasing may put on — however it may borrow 
roughness, or carelessness, or egotism, or sarcasm, as its mask — 
there it is, snug in the bottom of each human heart, fi'om St. Simeon 
Stylites shivering under the night-dews, to Jenny Lind flying from 
adoring hon-huntere, and Pio Nono piously tapping his gold snuff- 
box, and saying he is only a poor priest ! The little boy who has 
committed his piece with much labor of brain, much screwing of 
body, and anxious gesticular tuition, utterly refuses to say it when 
the time comes. Why ? Not because he does not wish to plccise, 
but because his intense desire to do so has suddenly assumed a new 
form, that of fear ; which like other passions, is very unreasonable. 



GROWING OLD GRACEFULLY". 247 



The same cause will make a young lady who has bestowed much 
thouo-ht on a new ball-di-ess, declare at the last moment, that she 
does not want to go ! A doubt has suddenly assailed her as to the 
success of her costume. The dress is surely beautiful, but will it 
make her so ? No vigor of personal vanity preserves us from these 
swoons of self-esteem ; and they are terrible while they last. What 
wonder, then, that the thought of a perpetual syncope of that kind 
should make us behave unwisely sometimes ? 

This universal desire of pleasing, and in particular the branch of 
it which we have just now in view — that wliich principally concerns 
personal appearance — is far from deserving to be reckoned among 
our weaknesses, though we may blush to own it. It is rather a 
mark of weakness to disown it, especially as no one can ever do that 
with perfect truth. The pride that leads us to pretend indifference, 
is quite as mean as the unlawful arts, affectations, and sacrifices of 
modesty, which an undue anxiety to please sometimes prompts, and 
surely far less amiable. If we admire those who scorn to please by 
the usual means, it is only as we prize a new zoological variety — for 
its rarity, and for no grace or attractiveness, but rather the opposite. 
* A scornful beauty' is only one who is less natural than her com- 
peers ; who fancies she has discovered a new power ; a witchery 
more piquant to a certain class of observers. Take her at her word, 
or at the word of her looks and behavior, and you would bring her 
to terms very soon. Let her be neglected at one ball, or passed 
unnoticed in Broadway, and she will soon confess her share in the 
universal passion. There may indeed be found a class of egotists so 
imbued with self-esteem, as never to be conscious of a feeling- 
amounting to a wish to please anybody ; but this is because no 
doubt on the subject' ever troubles them ; and they have been life- 
long bores to all about them — a fate nov/ise enviable. Better be 



248 THE EVENING BOOK. 



teased with anxiety to please beyond the lignit allotted us by nature. 
That is at least the more loveable extreme. 

If we undertake the most imperfect examination of the means 
given us by which to accomplish this natural desire of pleasing, we 
shall be obliged to utter many commonplaces. We must say that 
a sweet and loving disposition stands foremost, even in consideiing 
looks ; an inward feeling and habit of feeling which gives softness to 
the eyes, and delicacy to the hps : a warmth of cheerfulness and 
good ^^dll that hghts up the face and smooths the brow : a sympathy 
whose glow gives color to the cheek, and tenderness to the voice : 
a hearty truthfulness, able to carry the most ordinary words right 
to the bottom of the heart, and fix them there, in quiet trust and 
sweet assurance. After all that has been said of ' fascination,' in 
connexion with handsome faces lacking this radiance of goodness and 
truth, hardly any one will seriously dispute that no ' set of features, 
or complexion, or tincture of a skin' will compensate for the soul of 
loveliness. 

Yet these things have their charm, too ; so great a charm, that we 
are always ready, at first, to fancy that all lies beneath them that 
should belong to them. A fair skin seems to bespeak a calm and 
pure mind; a clear, full eye, truth and innocence; a blushing, 
changing cheek, modesty and sensibility. Add to these rich and 
beautiful hair, white teeth, and a radiant smile, and throw over the 
whole the grace of symmetrical harmony, and we are prone to as- 
cribe virtue to the owner of attractions so potent, or rather Ave accept 
the attractions, and take the virtues for granted. Mere beauty of 
form and color has much to do with the pleasure of social hfe ; for 
we never can dissever from these the qualities they ought to be- 



Even dress has its value in increasing the pleasure of social inter- 



GROWING OLD GRACEFULLY. 249 



course, or at least making some persons more acceptable to us than 
others. Few will dispute that veiy outre or coarse or ungraceful 
costume detracts from the pleasure they might feel in certain com- 
pany, or that it is often truly mortifying when those we love appear 
in society ill-dressed ; but we remember to have heard a lady go 
beyond this degree of candor, in saying that she could not help 
loving even her best friends the better for being elegantly dressed. 
We are not all willing to own as much ; but is there not, in truth, 
something akin to this feeling, in the recollection of every person of 
taste ? The sentiments are so intimately interwoven, that it is hard 
to define their boundaries. The pleasure we receive from the pre- 
sence of the beloved, is enhanced or diminished by a thousand 
trifles ; is not dress sometimes one of them ? At least, we must 
confess, that where those we only hke are concerned, it makes a 
good deal of difference. 

We speak of dress as having expression ; — as being sombre or 
the contrary, and affecting our spirits for the moment correspond- 
ingly. Bright and dehcate colore are naturally agreeable to the eye, 
and conducive to cheerfulness ; so much so that many persons, not 
willing to prolong the pain of sorrow, dislike to wear mourning, 
simply because of its influence on the spirits. To natures thus im- 
pressive, any dark uniformity of dress is unpleasing ; they do not 
hke even to invite guests who will be sure to come in gloomy colors. 
Bright tints are the natural symbols of joy, hope, gaiety ; and the 
susceptible love none other. Their sensitiveness confesses the need 
of these among other defences against the insidious, creeping gloom 
of hfe, which ever threatens us, as the sands of Egypt every open 
space left unguarded. 

Do we seem to have wandered from our theme ? We have only 
been approaching it. The reason why growing old gracefully has 



250 THE EVENING BOOK. 



become a theme at all is, that there have been complaints that the 
art is not understood or the duty recognized. These complaints 
have been made by two classes, — the young and the old ; not at all 
by those between youth and age. They are generally wilhng to let 
the matter pass suh silentio. But what is the ground of complaint ? 
Twofold. With the young, who are buoyant, eager after their own 
objects, and — with mildness be it hinted — a httle apt to be self-satis- 
fied, it is that those who have passed through that stage are not 
quite wilhng enough to retire and leave a clear field for others. 
The intensity of interest with which the thoughts of debutants are 
fixed on themselves and their companions is such, that it seems to 
them somewhat impertinent in anybody else to live at all ; unpar- 
donable to show any unwillingness to subside into a state of hiberna- 
tion, like other stupid animals. How unreasonable in ladies who 
have lost their bloom to claim attention ! How tiresome in gen- 
tlemen old enough to desire sensible conversation, the attempt to 
occupy the time devoted to flirtation ! 

With the old, the reproach is generally still more severe. ' It is 
quite time to be leaving off such foUies and thinking of something 
better.' Something better ! Ah ! there is the question. Is it bet- 
ter to let the charms of youth depart without an effort, to invite the 
steps of unlovely age, to forget the sympathies of early days, to fore- 
go the society of the gay and cheerful, to put ourselves in the way 
of becoming repulsive and censorious ? Some people are constitu- 
tionally moping and dissatisfied, and these are apt to be very cross 
that everybody else is not so too. Tempers any gayer than their 
own are necessarily 'frivolous ;' a relish for company which they are 
unfitted to enjoy, ' dissipated,' or ' light-minded.' To dress cheer- 
fuUy and becomingly is considered as an attempt to affect youth; 
to cx)nvcrse gaily, an unsuitable effort to attract admirers. There is 



GROWING OLD GRACEFULLY. 251 



really no limit to the ungracious tilings said and looked by some 
very dull people, who desire to get as many names as possible into 
theii- own category. Nothing would please them better than 
sumptuary laws which should proscribe certain colors, forms, and 
ornaments of dress after a certain age ; and if the ordinance could 
be so devised as to prohibit laughing, and livehness, and joining in 
youthful pleasures, from and after the same period, it would be still 
more gratifying. It were curious, but perhaps not profitable, to in- 
quire whether the amusement vulgarly called backbiting, would be 
increased or diminished by such a law. Ah ! those pale-green eyes ! 
We imagine them fixed upon us as we make these daring sugges- 
tions, and our blood creeps as we write. We are ready to give in ; 
but candor and duty oblige us to proceed with a few words for the 
weaker party. 

Does not the unwillingness of the young to see their advantages 
shared by those who have not full claim to them show how keenly 
our common, human nature appreciates those advantages ? And 
what prompts the sharp remark but a desire to monopolize them ? 
Uncle Toby, when he put the troublesome fly out of the window, 
said, ' There is room enough in the world for thee and me.' Pity 
but the young could apply this. ' What a prodigious quantity of 
Charlotte-Russe E always eats !' said a certain person at sup- 
per. We need not say that the certain person was very fond of 
Charlotte-Russe. Virtuous indignation is very apt to have a little 
pei*sonal feehng at the bottom. If there were an unhmited amount 
of attention and admiration in every circle, so that each member of 
it could be supplied to heart's content, the moral aspect of wishing 
to be agreeable too late in life would not seem half so heinous to 
those who now satirize it. Public opinion visits with great severity 
all offences against property, because the public loves property above 



252 THE EVENING BOOK. 



all other things ; and decorum is never so ferocious, as when unlaw- 
ful appropriation of kind, or approving, or admiring, words and 
looks is in question ; because even the decorous, in their secret hearts 
covet these things with an intensity which thej^ are reluctant to own, 
and ill endure to see the general sum too much subdivided. We 
must pardon the hypocrisy, w^hich is often quite unconscious. 

' But unworthy arts are practised.' "What are they ? We have 
seen by what circumstances or quahties nature teaches us to please. 
One of the most prominent of these is personal appearance. The 
lapse of year's steals the smoothness of the cheek and the rich color 
of the hair ; gives perhaps too much roundness or its more unde- 
sirable opposite to the figure ; changes even the expression of the 
mouth, by secret inroads upon the teeth ; softens the once firm 
muscles, and thus impairs freedom and grace of movement ; and in 
many other ways, more or less conspicuous, indicates that the body 
has culminated, passed its perfection, received a hint of decay. We 
are not forgetting for a moment that all these changes have nothing 
to do with decay of the mind ; on the contrary, they are often the 
very signs of its ripening. The kernel grows sweeter as its shell 
dries and hardens. But no human creature is wholly indifferent to 
human beauty ; and with our instinctive knowledge of this truth, it 
is as foolish to wish as it is unreasonable to expect that the moment 
of threatened loss should be that ofindiflference. 

The young may be comparatively careless on the subject of good 
looks, for youth is beauty ; yet even they are not often found wholly 
neglectful of the means of enhancing this gTeat advantage. Why 
then gi'uclge the use of dress and personal care to others who need 
it so much more ? Even what may be called, par excellence^ the 
arts of dress, are patronized by the young, or what would make our 
dress-makers such expert padders and lacers, our milHnei-s so skilful 



GROWING OLD GRACEFULLY. 253 



in the choice and minoiino; of colors and textures ? Above all, how 
would our perfumers and cosmetic-venders make such speedy for- 
tunes, if they were not patronized by the young ? The would-be 
young' are not a sufl&ciently numerous class to support half of them. 
Even our coiffeurs and dentists depend for their customers more 
upon the rising generation than upon the declining one. We would 
venture a guess that ten times as many lotions for improving the 
complexion, miraculous soaps to make soft white hands, dentifrices, 
depilatories, and capilline balms, are sold to damsels and youths 
under twenty, as are ever purchased by an equal number of people 
over forty. The truth is, that by ^e time that mature age is 
reached, most persons blessed with common sense have discdVered 
that these outward appliances have very Httle power to improve, 
none at all to disguise. The idea that this power resides in any- 
thing yet invented by the ingenuity or cupidity of man belongs, only 
to the season of an intense and original verdancy. IS'ature, whose 
decree it is that every passing thought and emotion, every lapsing 
year, every illness, every grief, shall write itself legibly on face and 
form, takes care that nothing shall counteract her design. No arts 
ai'e so sm*e to be baffled and exposed as cosmetic arts. It was only 
the other evening that we saw a lady of a certain age with a face 
and neck hke ivory or alabaster, cheeks softly tinged with rose, 
and hair that rivalled jet in blackness and lustre. Her toilet had 
been most successful ; but what was the result ? Why, that the 
youngest and least practised eye in the room detected every impos- 
ture at a glance, and found the face as uninteresting as those revolv- 
ing countenances in hairdressers' windows, glaring at you with a 
hideous, fixed smile, and eyes which have no s|)eculation in them. 
' Made up !' was the contemptuous sentence on every lip. The 
flattering assurance given to the poor lad}^ by her glass was one of 



254 THE EVENING BOOK. 



those delusions by wliich the father of hes induces the victims of 
vanity to sign away their souls ; which ' keep the word of promise 
to the ear, but break it to the sense ;' conferring the coveted beauties 
but depriving them of all power to charm. Most melancholy are 
these errors, to the looker-on of any sensibility or kind feehngs. 

Deception with regard to age, then, we look upon as out of the 
question ; what is left to quarrel with ? Too much gaiety of dress 
or manner ? Why, when gaiety of any kind is not too abundant in 
society, and too many people frequent it looking memento mori in 
every feature ? We ought to be grateful to the few who can, from 
whatever motive, help to throw a little sunshine on society. If 
theirnight be shghtly refi-acted, we are not to condemn it as 
spurious. Why is gaiety unsuitable after youth is passed ? Only 
because we are not used to it. The tendency of life is to extinguish 
it ; — of life, though never so. prosperous and happy. Few have 
courage enough to cultivate cheerfulness of thought ; still fewer, 
cheerfulness of behavior, which costs an effort. We have learned, 
therefore, to consider grave manners as alone suitable to matm-e 
years ; and we are apt to antedate the period at which ' mature' 
years ought in conscience to be considered as begun. It is, after all, 
a strange jealousy this! It confesses its nature at every turning, 
yet it insists upon being considered the champion of virtue. That 
is an old trick of selfishness. 

But when elderly people are accused of undue youthfulness of 
dress or manner, it is usually accompanied with some suspicion of a 
design upon the other sex. Is such design, then, the ground of 
gay dress and manner in the young? And if so, and it be con- 
sidered innocent in them, is it contemptible in the more advanced ? 
At what age is man or woman too old to desire happiness? If 
ill-pucco?s attend the forced buddings of this second spring, as it is 



GROWING OLD GRACEFULLY 255 



very likely to do, does it not constitute a sufficient punishment for 
the attempt to break through Nature's thorny hedges? If 
prosperity, then must we conclude the aspirant wise, the objector 
fooHsh, and — envious. Such things have been, and the satirists, left 
behind, have had to gnash their mental teeth in impotent 
vexation. 

But, after saying thus much, it may be requisite for us to protest 
that we are quite aware of the truly ridiculous figure sometimes 
exhibited by an antiquated boy or superannuated girl who is weak 
enough to make spasmodic and ghastly efforts at the manners and 
appearance of youth. We have not a word to say in defence 
of these punchinelloes, but give them over to the tender mercies of 
Dickens, Thackeray, and other dissectors of human character and 
folly. They are usually people who never were anything but 
emptiness : 



Happily such instances are few, in our state of society, at least. 
For one aged butterfly we have a dozen prematurely old and 
morbidly grave people, who seem to think goodness and attract- 
iveness incompatible, and amusement a weak, if not a sinful, 
indulgence. We feel sometimes almost ready to compound for a 
few belated fiiskers, by way of variety. 

Allowing, however, that there are, even among us, some whom a 
desire of being agreeable betrays into unbecoming behavior, — 
for we would not be understood to insinuate that a fine instinct will 
not guide each period of life to a style of manners pecuharly suited 
to itself, — let us inquire to what temptation is the error owing. 
We have seen that the secret wish of every heart is to please, — to 
be acceptable, — to be sought. All hke to be invited, — to read 



256 THE EVENING BOOK. 



in the eyes of those about tliem that tlieir company gives pleasure. 
All di'ead the cold shoulder, the listless eye, the unready hand. 
None but a cynic chooses to be omitted when a party is made up, 
or put off with an apology instead of a visit. ISTow, in the very 
nature of things, the insidious approach of yeai-s must bring round 
the point at which such neglect will, under ordinaiy circumstances, 
be felt to begin. The changes of hfe separate us from our original 
companions, and bring us into contact with all ages. Perhaps it is 
om* lot to find agreeable young people, and rather indolent or 
unsocial elder ones. But the young do not seek us naturally, 
unless we are in some degree conformed to them ; unless we 
keep up a youthful interest in then* pursuits, sympathize in then not 
always wise wishes, and lead them, by some sacrifice or accommo- 
dation, to forget the additional experience which might otherwise 
inspire some dread of our severer notions. Is not here an induce- 
ment — we will not say a temptation, for that implies wrong — to 
keep young as long as possible ? Candid married ladies confess, 
sometimes, the secret pang with which they first found themselves 
left out when a ^ young ' party was made up, — the said yoimg party 
consisting of the very friends and associates to whom they had been 
all in all but a little while before. Wherefore this omission ? 
Because there was an idea of diminished or transferred sympathies. 
Far more cutting must be the fii*st perception of a change of this 
sort to the unmarried, who can refer it only to the hopeless 
disadvantage of increasing yeai-s. These compulsory shadows on 
one's life must be chilhng indeed. No wonder we should desire to 
keep on the sunny side of the Rubicon. If the young are disposed 
to sneer at those who are not wilHng to be old, let them rather 
cultivate in themselves a more humane feehng towards the frontier 
people, — dwellers in the Debatable Land, always an unquiet 



GROWING OLD GRACEFULLY. 25T 



position. Let tliem show less eagerness to monopolize youth, and 
others will be less eager to cling to it. Of all castes yet devised for 
partitioning society, this of years is the least dignified and the most 
offensive ; and of all countries, this of oui-s, which professedly 
repudiates caste, is foremost in this division. It would seem as if 
the national youthfulness had expressed itself in the maxims of 
social life, making it, by the supreme law of fashion, un-American 
to be anything but young. What was Bryant thinking of, when he 
wrote, in one of the most glorious of his poems, — 

' Oh, Freedom ! thou art not, as poets dream, 
A fair, young girl, with light and delicate limbs, 
And wavy tresses !' ? 

Why, she ' isn't anything else !' if we may judge by the general 
aspect of most of our companies, where young girls (and boys) not 
only enjoy, but claim, the ' largest liberty,' allowing it to otliere in 
such modicums as they judge expedient. We are assured — but 
this we will not vouch for — that in certain quarters it is thought 
rather impertinent if mammas or married sisters do not withdraw 
into the shade on all occasions of reunion for merry doings. Tra- 
vellers in the United States have repeatedly recorded their astonish- 
ment at this pecuHar state of things : — that the approach to 
maturity incapacitates — and especially ladies — for American society. 
This is really enough to make one paint, patch, and powder ; dye 
one's hair and eyebrows, and wear false curls and braids, teeth, 
beards, and mustaches ; suffer the martyrdom of tight shoes on 
agiicultural feet, obviate every awkward deficiency or redundance 
of nature vcith whalebone and cotton batting, and, in short do all 
those dreadful thing-s which draw upon desperate people, disposed 
to catch at straws on the ocean of Time, the reproach of not grow- 



258 THE EVENING BOOK. 



ing old gracefully ! Who likes to be laid on the shelf, and medi- 
cined there with such placebos as — ' Dear Aunt Sally ! she hates 
dress, and does so love to be alone !' or — ' That good soul, Cousin 
Thomas ! he is alwaj^s pleased when others enjoy themselves, but 
he does not care for society !' — instead of hearty invitations ? 

It is a very odd thing, seeing that the course of time invariably 
robs everybody of youth, that those who are on the high road to age, 
and hoping with all their hearts to arrive there, should so hate every 
one of the inevitable milestones on the way. ' All men think all 
men mortal but themselves.' What an inexhaustible fund of jokes 
is afforded by the faihng eyes of our friends ! what rich amusement 
in rheumatism or corns ! It seems not always to be easy for the 
sufferer to join in the laugh ; but we hked the quiet answer of a 
friend whose white hairs were the subject of ridicule : ' Our blessings 
brighten as they take their flight !' One would think certain 
favored individuals had been insured against losses of this sort ; but, 
among all the modes devised for equahzing the ills of life, there has 
not yet appeared one that offers remedy or indemnity for faded 
charms. If there were, what a prodigious run it would have ! 
Those whose wit is rifest on these points — and there are some who 
really seem to enjoy the symptoms of decay in their best friends — 
would betray the latent dread of their own hearts by being first on 
the books. They would acknowledge the importance of being 
insm-ed against ridicule and neglect during the period in w^hich the 
aspect of age is as yet strange, and therefore unwelcome. Happily 
this season is not of very long duration, for it brings with it the 
pain common to all down-hill travelling before the muscles have 
become used to their new action. 

This overweening estimate of youth bespeaks a low idea of the 
materials of which agreeable society should be coraj-iosed. ' None 



GROWING OLD GRACEFULLY. 259 



grow old,' says Madame Rahel, 'but they who were never any- 
thing hut young ^ The quahties which make people agreeable in 
the highest degree are those with which age latest interferes ; and 
if there have originally been anything of value in the mind, expe- 
rience must ripen and bring it to perfection. Information increases 
with years with all but absolute fools ; and sympathy need not be 
lessened if the trials of hfe be put to their best use. Impetuosity 
may have faded ; but if in its stead, 

' Years that bring the philosophic mind' 

bring also patience, consideration, allowance, judgment, and kindl}'- 
feehng, why need we regret it ? If we have fewer prejudices, 
greater facility of generous admiration, more accurate and cultivated 
taste, a wider range of interest ; if, in parting with a portion of our 
eai^ly fire, we have lost none of our genial warmth ; if the friends 
that remain are the more precious because of those who are gone, 
and this life the more beautiful inasmuch as we have learned to dis- 
cern more clearly its connection with another : surely we should 
not be dismissed from the social circle because om* outward grace 
and transitory bloom have fled ; cast on the stream of Time, like 
dead garlands after a festival — fit only to prepare the soil for other 
flowers equally fl.eeting. At the period of middle life of which we 
speak, the good have earned the right to be plain without being 
considered repulsive ; if they cannot beautify society, they may at 
least adorn it. Dancing they may think proper to lay aside, but 
for conversation they are better fitted than ever, and even the young 
cannot always dance. Music is not yet prohibited to the mature, 
nor the hundred fireside games that make the winter's evening pass 
so merrily. Flirtation may be a little out of season with them, but 
does not this make them all the more desirable companions for a 



260 THE EVENING BOOK. 



certain class of young people, who could hardly bear to share their 
chief pleasure with even their dearest friends ? 

If we had power to sketch our ideal of one who is learning to 
take worthily the first steps on the down-hill of life, we should, it is 
true, mingle no inconsiderable leaven of seriousness with the cheer- 
ful light we love to see thrown over the character. Sadness and 
sweetness are not, in our view, irreconcileable ; indeed we think 
sometimes of a sweet sadness as something fascinating beyond the 
gaiety which carries with it an unpleasant suspicion of blunted sen- 
sibilities. Yet we desire no morbid seriousness. "We ask sunshine 
from the heart ; true, loving sympathy with young and old, the dear 
result of reflection and kind offices ; an intelligent interest in every 
possible improvement ; an incessant cultivation of every talent and 
faculty, joined with a love of imparting that makes it impossible to 
withhold ; a power of self-adaptation, the growth of active, mould- 
ing affection : — and constant employment for all these qualifications. 
If we are for no exclusions, we are for no sinecures ; if we would 
have our friends sought, we would also have them worth seeking. 
'^o faineants m the field! Good and true devoir and service, as 
well as an honorable place at the feast ! 







. '^^.. 



^MS! 'Srm.AwmirAWiu'' . 



THE TOWN POOR. 



A WESTERN REMINISCENCE. 



It is somewhat difficult, amid the conventionahsms of great cities, 
to remember that mere humanity, uugraced by wealth or station, 
and destitute of the talent by which these are to be acquired, has 
any claim to respect or consideration. A pauper, among us, is a 
mere animal, whose physical necessities a certain prejudice obliges 
. us to supply, but whose extinction would be a decided advantage to 
all concerned, himself included, though there is unfortunately no 
provision in our laws for putting out of the world those who are 
merely superfluous in it. 

A lady observed, last summer, that it was delightful, during the 
abundant fruit season, to see every poor little beggar about the 
markets with a fine peach or watermelon. ' Why,' said her friend, 
in all simphcity, 'did you think they would eat so much as to kill 
themselves V 

This was the thought that suggested itself to a rich and not un- 
feeling person, on hearing that paupers were enjoying fruit. In the 
country, and especially in the new country, people feel so differently, 
with all their coai-seness ! 

We had only one confessedly 'poor' family in the town during 



262 THE EVENING BOOK. 



the half dozen years of our residence in the West. This was the 
household of a stout, healthy carpenter, with a bed-ridden wife, and 
a good many chubby children. At first the man struggled feebly 
against fate, but he was too insurmountably lazy and inefficient to 
supply, by extra efibrt, the deficiency occasioned by his wife's condi- 
tion. His step was always slow and heavy, except when the dinner- 
horn sounded when he was at work for some thriving; former. At 
home, it was said, poor fellow, that he never knew what dinner was, 
but took bread and milk, morning, noon, and night, the year round. 
At his work he was a very snail, measuring and measuring, and, 
after all, going wTong, and spoiling all by mere absence of mind and 
forgetfulness. So, of course, work became scarce with hira. 

Meanwhile, his wife was always on the bed, except when she 
wanted something to eat ; and she was reported to have an admira- 
ble appetite. The neighbore said a good many hard things about 
her being able to exert herself when anything excited her ; but she 
insisted that she had a weakness in her back about as large as a 
knitting-needle, which prevented her doing any kind of work, active 
or sedentary, though she could manage occasionally to go to a tea- 
drinking, or net herself a smart cap or collar when there v/as to l>e 
a quarterly meeting. 

This did pretty well while the poor carpenter could pay his way, 
and keep all the himgry mouths supphed with something in the 
way of food. But by and bye indolence, and improvidence, and 
dirt, and poor fare, did their work upon him, and he was gradually 
incapacitated for work, and reduced to the necessity of asking aid 
from the town, ^fter this the waters soon closed over his head. 
Debts pressed — sickness came — hope (for this world) was extinct. 
Happily, even in this darkness, a fight came forth from the future 
to gild the downward path of the pauper, — (paupers have souls, in 



THE TOWN POOR. 263 

the country,) — and he turned his eyes from the wretched present to 
the far better hfe to come, and welcomed Death as a kindly mes- 
senger, sent by his Heavenly Father to release him from a world of 
woe. No death-bed so poor that this spirit of love and hope cannot 
curtain it with glorious light, converting its very penury into an 
earnest of good things in store for the soul which has received ' e\il 
things' on this side the grave. 

There is perhaps no occasion on which the rougher sort of people 
appear to better advantage than in circumstances of illness and 
death in the neighborhood. Misfortunes of a different kind occm-- 
ring among their friends do not always awaken the sympathy we 
should expect, perhaps because there is some truth in Rochefou- 
cault's famous maxim, that there is something in the misfortunes of 
others which is not disao-reeable to us ; and the untauo'ht do not 
conceal this infirmity as cunningly as we do. Pecuniary misfortunes 
are pitied by a curious scale of estimates. If a man is cheated out 
of his farm, so that he is obliged to ' pull up stakes' and go off to 
Wisconsin or elsewhere, very little commiseration is felt for him. 
It passes as one scene in the great drama of life ; a crook which 
may come in any man's lot; a new and therefore not entirely 
undesirable experience ; an opportunity of seeing the world ; an 
excuse for ' going West,' an ever-present dream with all Western 
people. If heavy rains destroy the harvest, when all has promised 
golden abundance, the misfortune is shared so widely that it is 
borne without special complaint, since misery not only loves com- 
pany but is consoled by it. If the miller's dam break away, so that 
it requires all the men in the neighborhood to build it up again, it 
is not in human nature to expect an}^ great sympathy, for who is 
sorry for a good 'job ?' 

But let a fox come in and eat up a brood of young geese, or a 



264 THE EVENING BOOK. 



weasel suck a whole nest of promising eggs ; let the rats make 
havoc in the pile ef rolls from the carding-mill, or the best cow get 
too much clover, and the talk of the whole neighborhood will run on 
nothing else until some ncAv accident happens. Perhaps it will be 
said that it is because these misfortunes fall within the female pro- 
vince that words are lavished about them. As to that we cannot 
say. But it is certain that they seem to make more impression on 
the general mind. 

For all that touches health or life, however, there is an ever- 
ready, warm, overflowing and active sympathy, which education and 
refinement could hardly improve, even if education and refinement 
were always free from certain haunting influences which sometimes 
mar their inherent beneficence. Delicacy, taste, disinterestedness, 
tenderness, may be lacking at other times among the uninstructed ; 
when the hand of God touches ' the bone and the flesh' of any 
membei" of the community, all these things come, by a beautiful 
instinct, just in proportion as they are needed. There is even a sort 
of awe of the sick, and this among people whose organ of reve- 
rence is usually anything but morbidly sensitive. They gaze upon 
the sufferer reflectingly, and as he perceptibly nears the borders of 
the dark valley, this awe is deepened, until it seems as if the out- 
skirts of that world upon which clouds and darkness rest, cast a 
shadow on the face of the attendants around the sick bed. And 
this reverential or awe-stricken feehng is not to be ascribed to a 
mere fear of death ; for this, strange to say, is not a trait among 
such people, probably because their imaginations are unawakened. 
It is a sense of spiritual reahty ; a bringing home of the assurances 
of the pulpit ; an effort to contemplate the unknown, which seems 
brought within ken by a connecting link in the person of the dying. 



THE TOWN POOR. 265 



At least such is the appearance. Although not untinged bj super- 
stition, it is a truly religious awe. 

But in cases which are far from being extreme, or even dangerous, 
a high degree of sympathy is felt, and the most active, ingenious 
and self-sacrificing kindness exhibited. The remedies prescribed and 
offered might excite a smile, to be sure ; but we will not touch upon 
them now. In seasons of general or prevalent disease, it not unfre- 
quently occui-s that a whole neighborhood will be so worn out with 
night-watching that there is not one left who is well enough for 
this most onerous service. In that case what riding and driving is 
there, to fetch unexhausted nurses from more fortunate parts of 
the country ! No labor or sacrifice is thought too great for this end, 
since ^^gils are a part of the rehgion of country people. "When the 
most luxurious citizen would not think it necessary to have one sit- 
ting up to be ready in case he should awake and wish a drink, the 
backwoodsman would think himself ill-used if he had not one or 
two ' watchers,' for whom a regular meal is always set, and who 
often have nothing to do but see the sick man sleep all night. It is 
not this injudicious zeal which we recommend as an example. 

When death enters a family, how^ever, the sensation is felt 
throughout a whole wide neighborhood. No business goes on as 
usual. Every voice is softened ; every countenance saddened. 
AiTangements are made to put by business as much as possible, 
that there may be leisure to assist in the last duties. These last 
duties are not simplified by the intervention of professional people as 
they are in older settlements. Everything has to be considered, 
planned and provided for, by the neighbors and friends, at no httle 
cost of time and trouble. It is often necessary to send several miles 
to obtain suitable material for the coffin, as this is a point of much 
interest ; and it would be considered highly disrespectful and unkind 



266 THE EVENING BOOK. 



to the bereaved to neglect such a mark of respect. The other 
offices necessaiy at such times are all performed in the same spirit, 
and all in the most quiet and delicate manner, without a question 
asked of the mourning family, if it be possible to avoid this. The 
house is prepared for the funeral, conveyances provided, distant 
friends summoned ; all, in short, is done, with what seems an instinct 
of goodness. The coarse man of yesterday is to-day a gentle 
brother, full of untaught but most touching refinement. The neigh- 
borhood gossip, whose visits have been a terror, is transformed to an 
active, useful, quiet friend ; stepping about on tip-toe, and refusing 
no office, however unpleasant, which can aid the general purpose. 
Some good soul whose personal services are not needed in the house, 
will, without a word, take the children to her own home, and devote 
herself to them ; while another will occupy herself in preparing nice 
things in the way of food, that there may be wherewithal to enter- 
tain the numerous family of assistants and guests usually congre- 
gated, on such occasions, without unpleasant bustle in the house of 
affliction. 

The last ceremonies are very similar everywhere. The universal 
heart speaks out in sympathy with the bereaved, who are about to 
commit their loved ones to the earth, even in the most artificial 
society, where every other feehng seems moulded, if not chilled, by 
fashion. True, gushing tears and melting hearts, attest the great 
brotherhood of humanity, even in circles from which the thought 
of death seems habitually shut out. In the country this is pro- 
longed by prayers and hymns, and sometimes by the very protracted 
preaching of the clergyman — a painful practice, since emotion is 
necessarily exhausting, and there is a sort of blank wdiich occui's 
after it has subsided, unfavorable to the tender associations that 
called it forth. 



THE TOWN POOR. 261 



The public leave-taking customary in the country is an exception 
to the general good taste and delicacy which prevails on these occa- 
sions. Nothing can be imagined more distressing for the friends, or 
more embarrassing to the spectators, than the custom of leading up 
every member of the family to take a last look at the beloved 
remains before they are forever removed from the light of day. 
How this could ever have been judged proper, is indeed a mystery. 

The procession consisting of all the w^agons and carriages of the 
neighborhood, filled with whole families — since women and even 
children are included — is always a most beautiful and interesting 
sight, as it winds slowly through the woods and dells, now crossing 
a rustic bridge, now passing the brow of a hill. Let the distance 
be ever so great, the same deferential pace is preserved, and the 
assistants refrain rehgiously from conversation on indifferent subjects. 
Death is with them not only a solemn but a sacred thing. Its pre- 
sence hushes for the time all worldly thoughts, and brings eternity 
to view\ Such should be its salutary influence everywhere. If we 
viewed it aright, would the rebellious heart so often ask — Why 
must it be ? 

The burial ground in the new country is usually on a hill-side, 
enclosed with a rough fence, and encumbered often with stumps left 
from the original clearing. The graves are wholly unornamented 
except here and there a bit of wooden railing, and rarely, a head 
and foot -stone. Generally two pieces of board supply the place of 
these ; the name and age of the deceased being painted upon the 
larger one. Not unfrequently a bit of unpainted wood, w^th letters 
marked by some one who can scarce write, is all ! No attempt at 
shrubbery, not even a solicitude for removing the rubbish which 
encumbers all newly-cleared lands. Grief has not yet sought the 
aid of Taste to soften its recollection i. The idea of beautifving the 



268 THE EVENING BOOK. 



cemetery is the slow result of ci^'ilizat^on and refined thoiiglit. 
Superstition used to ask the shadow of the church, for its dead ; 
and this accorded well with the practice of continued prayers for 
the parted soul. Our usage seems more simple, more in accordance 
with our religious belief; yet the other had a tender appeal in it, 
and commends itself to the feelings of all those who have suffered 
deeply. How inseparably is the idea of the Divine Omnipotence 
connected with our bereavements ! How distinctly we feel in part- 
ing with our loved ones, that we are committing them to that faith- 
ful and just One, who is able to keep them for us, and to re-unite 
us with them. Of all the funeral hymns that have ever been writ- 
ten, perhaps none expresses the sentiment of the hushed but trembling 
heart of the mourner so well as that beautiful one : 

' Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb ! 
Take this new treasure to thy trust, 
And give the sacred relics room 
To slumber in their kindred dust. 

' Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear 

Invades thy bounds ; — no mortal woes 
Can reach the peaceful sleeper here, 

While angels watch the soft repose. 

•So Jesus slept; — God's dying Son 

Passed through the grave, and blessed the bed. 

Rest here ! blest saint ! till from his throne 
The morning break and pierce the shade.' 

At the grave there is generally a prayer and further exhortation ; 
but usually after the coffin is lowered, and the earth partly replaced, 
the nearest relative of the deceased, or the clergyman at his request, 
thanks the company for their kindness and their reverent attendance, 



THE TOWN POOR. 269 



and so dismisses tliem — a custom which, primitive as it sounds in 
description, has yet a grace and beauty to the unprejudiced 
observer. It is especially appropriate where so many of the indi- 
viduals present have given their attention, their personal ser^dces, 
their sighs and tears, from the beginning to the end of the sad 
period. To express a feehng of obhgation in such a case is both 
natural and proper, and finishes tendei'ly what has been a matter of 
feeling throughout. 

None can know without actual experience, the deep teachings of 
the most unpolished rustic life. But to return. 

The funeral of this poor worn out creature was an occasion of as 
much interest in the neighborhood as if he had been a rich proprie- 
tor. The dignity of human nature was acknowledged by all, with- 
out a grudge on the score of pauperism. Tears flowed freely at the 
leave-taking, before the coffin was closed, and the widow was handed 
into the best carriage, with the respect due to deep affliction. 

But here the pathetic aspect of this case fades at once. The re- 
collections of poor Mrs. Crindle's consciousness of her new mourning 
— the airs with which she arranjyed and re-arran2:ed her veil — the 
pullings on and off of the black gloves — the flutterings of the unac- 
customed white handkerchief — are far too vivid to allow of any 
dwelling upon the solemnities of the scene. The kindness of her 
friends had arrayed her in a complete outfit for the occasion, and 
although some of the articles were only lent for the funeral, the mere 
appearing in them was too delicious to allow «Mrs. Crindle to vievs^ 
the occasion as anything but a grand pageant in which she, after all 
her seclusion, was the observed of all observers. If she thought of 
poor Crindle at all, it was probably only to regret he could not have 
seen his own funeral, and herself the gi-andest feature of it. 

A question soon arose as to Mrs. Crindle's support. She had 



270 THE EVENING BOOK. 



seven children, and not one of them able to earn a hving. One son 
■was lame, through the rickets, and him it was his mother's ambition 
to bring up as a school-master. She said he had a big head to hold 
learning, and that his arms were strong if his legs were weak. This 
was for the futm-e, however. The present concern was subsistence, 
and here a series of argumentations, not to say altercations, ensued 
between Mrs. Crindle and the town-ofRcers. The functionaries, po- 
tent in a brief authority, insisted that Mrs. Crindle should do some- 
thing, however little, towards her own support ; she maintained as 
stoutly that she neither could nor would do any such thing. She 
had never worked during her husband's lifetime, and she was not 
going to begin now. She had a family of helpless children, and it 
was the duty of the town to see that they did not starve. Nobody 
could prove that she ever had worked, and she took good care not 
to put such proof in any one's power by making the slightest 
effort. 

A proposition was made to ' put out' the children, but to this the 
mother declared she never would consent. What ! let her poor 
little dears go to live with strangers, when they had never been sep- 
arated from her for a day — the thing was out of the question ! She 
would see them starve first. But Mr. Zeiber, the Dutch poor-mas- 
ter, though he shrunk from the rattling storm which the proposition 
brought about his ears, was not to be silenced very easily, and mat- 
tei-s came to such a pass, that Mi-s. Crindle declared if she could only 
get to her o^vn people, in ' York State,' she wouldn't be beholden to 
nobody that begrudged her a hving ! Her folks were respectable, 
and wouldn't see her want for anything if they had her and her 
children amonof them. 

' They shall have you !' was the immediate and hearty reply, and 
as soon as the idea was fairly set on foot in the communit}^, a gener- 



THE TOWN POOR. 2*71 



ous entliiisiasm seemed to pervade the neigliborhood. The needful 
clothing for the widow and orphans w^as speedil}^ provided. The 
guardians of the poor kindled with the unwonted w^armth ; the 
loose cash in their hands was liberally appropriated for travelhng 
expenses ; and, to make assurance doubly sure, a trusty agent was 
appointed as companion for the journey, with directions to pay all 
expenses, handing over only the balance to the lady, lest some un- 
fortunate financial error should prevent the safe transportation of 
these interesting membei-s of the community to York State. 

This arrangement was substantially agreeable to Mrs. Crindle ; 
how could it be otherwise ? A journey to the East ! The very 
sound makes western ears tingle, especially when the events of a 
western residence have been such as to throw no golden hue over 
the new country. And here that Elysian prospect, a visit eastward, 
was offered to Mrs. Crindle, the very last person in our whole com- 
munity for whom such a blessing was supposed to be in reserve. 
That Mrs. Crindle, emphatically poor Mi-s. Crindle, should be so 
favored, when the wives of some of our best (technically best) citi- 
zens had been trying for the same thing for years in vain ! Tt was 
supposed that her cup must be full — nay, that it overflowed ! 

Yet, whose cup is without the bitter drop ? whose feast without 
some death's head ? whose villa without a pea-hen ? Not Mrs. 
Crindle's. The guardian of the poor, (officially, poor-master — what 
an undemocratic term !) refused her at the outset the use of her 
money ! Monstrous ! to know that another had money — real money 
— belonging to her, who had hardly ever had a whole dollar at 
once — in his pocket, yet she herself not be allowed to touch it ! 
She w^as not in the dark in the matter. She knew for certain that 
funds almost unlimited — amounting, at least, to twenty-nine dollars 
and fifty-nine cents, had been collected for the travelling expenses 



272 THE EVENING BOOK. 



of herself and cliildren, and she had looked forward to its possession, 
on the morning of her departure, as the happiest moment of her 
life. How overwhelming the discovery that Mr. Linacre, who had 
been chosen to superintend the interests of the unfortunate, and at 
the same time to take care that the puhHc purse received no unne- 
cessary detriment, was to be purse-bearer, regulating, entirely at dis- 
cretion, the expenditure of the journey ! Who could tell what great 
things her management might have done with so enormous a sum 
as twenty-nine dollars, (to say nothing of the cents.) She was 
already planning a new bonnet for Jemimy Jane, and thinking how 
pretty George Washington would look in a pair of high-heeled 
boots ; and of the comforts of a whole pound of candy, (it comes so 
cheap by the quantity !) for the solace of the party on the journey. 
A widow's cap was of course the proper thing to travel in ; and, 
though Mrs. Brooke had sent her one, the hems were not half broad 
enough, and a new one could be bought for next to nothing at De- 
troit. These, and a thousand more of brilliant visions, had danced 
before her mind's eye times innumerable. ISTow, what a change ! 
She not to be trusted with her own money ! 

ISTow, our poor-master was admirably fitted for his office — that of 
providing for the poor, without the public feehng the burden. He 
was not naturally hard-hearted, even towards the poor, who are, as 
everybody knows, our natural enemies ; but his doctrine was, (and 
it is everywhere a popular one,) that those who take care of them- 
selves do not need help, and those who do not, don't deserve it. 
Some ill-conditioned people, indeed, would say that Mr. Zieber was 
chosen because he was deaf, and so could with difficulty be made to 
hear the cries of the needy, and lame, and therefore moved but 
slowly to their relief. But this we repudiate as mei'e town scandal. 
He sliowed alacrity enough in forwarding Mrs. Crindle's departure. 



THE TOWN POOR. 273 



When the town was to be reheved of a burden, his lameness proved 
no obstacle. Economy is the only virtue we recognize in our pubhc 
men. 

Mr. Linacre was deaf, too ; at least so it seemed to poor Mrs. 
Crindle, whose hints, inuendos, and longings, openly or covertly 
expressed, as they passed through sundry villages rich in shops, went 
by him as the idle wind, and never produced even so much as an 
answer. Wise Mr. Linacre ! If he had attempted to argue, he had 
been lost. Nobody wearing the form of man could have resisted 
the widow's strong reasons. 

Happily the younger members of the party shared none of their 
mother's cares and anxieties. They had, to be sm*e, heard some- 
thing of a large sum of money, but they showed no remembrance 
of it save asking occasionally for ' that 'ere candy.' They were too 
fiiil of enjoyment to long for anything they had not. To ride aU 
day ! To visit parts unknown, when they had never been more 
than three or four miles from home before ! When the wagon 
came to the door, they could not wait till the poor moveables, 
{truck, the farmer not inaptly called them,) were stowed, but sprang 
in, and took a foretaste of the journey, while waiting for the 
preparations to be completed. When once in motion, their shouts 
of merry laughter would have warmed any heart but an old 
bachelor's. At view of the first village, an involuntary exclamation 
burst forth at the sight of the frame houses. ' What a lot of 
barns ! ' * they never having seen any large frame buildings, except 
barns. When they reached the railroad, everything was hke a 
wild dream, and they seemed as if their little wits must be unsettled. 
* How are they going to get that house along with so many folks 
in 't ? ' said one. ' Is that a burying ? ' asked another, starmg at the 

* Verbatim. 



274 THE EVENING BOOK. 



train. The whistle ahnost paralyzed them, and when they soon 
began to be tired and sleepy, they actually fancied in their bewil- 
derment that the houses and fences were flying away, while 
they themselves stood still. It was strange, all strange ; and they 
began to wonder if it was really the same world they had been 
living in all this time. 

The great Lake steamer was another world still, and the blowing 
off seemed a forewarning of a woi'se fate than they had ever 
learned about in the Catechism. In short, the pauper child is hke 
any other child, when he is where he dare be anything but a 
crushed worm ; and one blessed good of the wild West is the 
recognition of his share in the common humanity. 

But we spare our readers further detail of the incidents of the 
journey. It is enough to say, that the young ones did not recover 
from their astonishment, nor the mother from her just indignation 
at what she considered the unworthy conduct of Mr. Linacre in the 
suppression of her funds, by means of which she lost several great 
bargains, things having been offered her (she was assured by the 
sellers,) cheaper than was ever before known. The consequence of 
all this was, that she had to travel to the East in unsuitable apparel, 
which she well knew was the subject of unfavorable remarks among 
Ler fellow-passengei*s ; for she saw them whispering together, 
and knew it must be about her. Another hardship of which she 
bitterly complained was, that she had no presents to carry to her 
fi'iends at the East, who wonld reasonably expect something, as she 
had been away from them so long. Then the children, poor 
things, it certainly was very hard that she could not buy them any- 
thing, when she had money — or ought to have it if she had her 
rights, — and everything so cheap, too ! But Mr. Linacre was like 
the dumb idols who ' have ears but hear not — mouths have they, 



THE TOWN POOR. 275 



but they speak not — ' and lie held fast the deposits until they 
reached the end of the journey. It needed a good deal of inquiry 
to discover the residence of the ' respectable ' relatives of Mrs. 
Crindle, as the place had grown so much during her absence 
that she found herself quite at a loss as to localities. As 
* respectability,' in Mr. Linacre's estimation, as well as that of the 
world in general, had something to do with streets and houses, the 
quest was begun in the more shovr)^ neighborhoods, and at what 
mio;ht be called the Court End : but here no account could 
be obtained of the widow's friends. From the wide streets to 
the narrow — from these to the lanes — to the by-ways- — trooped our 
weary wayfarers, and in one of the poorest of these last, and in the 
poorest hovel in it, the ' respectables ' were at last unearthed. The 
hut was in no particular better than the one Mrs. Crindle had 
quitted at the West ; and, in fact, gi'eatly resembled it, except that 
boards held the place of logs, and an uneven brick hearth the place 
of an uneven stone one. Mr. Linacre stood aghast at the sight of 
the wretched poverty to which he had brought his wards, and 
it struck him at once as not impi-obable that the worthy board at 
home had been preciously humbugged — and that by one of their 
own paupers. He witnessed, however, a warm greeting from the 
old father, although this was somewhat qualified by the sour looks 
of a hard favored step-mother, who evidently counted, at the fii-st 
glance, the number of mouths that were thus suddenly added to the 
consumers at the paternal board. But he kept his own counsel. 
Where would be the use of getting up a scene with Mrs. Crindle 
now ? She had said her family were ' respectable ' — whose family 
is not respectable, six hundred miles off ? And why were n't they 
as respectable as anybody's folks, she said, when Mr. Linacre seemed 
inchned to charge her with having Winded the Western folks a 



276 ■ THE EVENING BOOK. 



little. ' None of 'em have ever been in jail ; and if they have n't 
lived as well as other folks, that was n't their fault ; they had hved 
on the best they could get. And more than all, grandfather was a 
revolution sojer ; and if they were a little down in the world now, 
what of it ? They might be up before long, just as their neighbors 
were.' As to imposing on people, Mrs. Crindle thought she was 
the one imposed upon, for she had not had the use of her ot\ti 
money. 

Mr. Linacre, as we have hinted, thought it prudent to avoid 
further discussion, and after paying over the balance of the twenty- 
nine fifty-nine, (amounting only to a few shillings, to Mi*s. Crindle's 
inexpressible surprise and indignation,) he took his leave — not very 
proud of his achievement. What became of the rest of that money, 
the widow never could imagine, unless, as she observed, Mr. Linacre 
' drank it, unbenownst.' 

On his return to our neighborhood, Mr. Linacre, though suffi- 
ciently communicative as to the incidents of the journey, and par- 
ticularly jocular in his description of a visit to the Episcopal Church 
at Detroit, where one of the children observed it was the biggest 
school-house he ever saw^, but wondered why the minister wore his 
white nightgown, yet avoided condescending upon any particulars as 
to the state in which he found matters and things among Mi's. 
Crindle's respectable relatives. He probably had certain misgivings 
fis to the final result of the expedition, as it was hkely to concern 
the tax payei-s of the town of P ; but he said nothing, prefer- 
ring to await the development in the course that the affairs of the 
poor are likely to take. 

Time rolled on. We heard nothing of Mrs. Crindle, and the 
town was pauperless, save for the two orphan boys of a not 
' respectable' mother who had absconded from our bounds. Mr. 



THE TOWN POOR. 211 



Linacre, doubtless, began to hope that some favorable turn at ' the 
East,' matrimony perhaps — had relieved us forever of the carpenter's 
family, when a wagon, loaded like the departing one described spme 
pages since, rolled briskly through the village, and stopt at the 
tavern ; whence flew like wildfire the annunciation, ' The Crindles 
have come back !' 

Come back ! after all the trouble of getting them off — all the 
sewings, the givings, the contrivings ; the complete outfit, as the 
villagers thought it, though Mrs. Crindle complained much of the 
deficiencies and unhandsomenesses. There they were again. The 

authorities of the town of Q -, County of Cattaraugus, State of 

jSTew York, had met, and concluded that they had subjects enough 
of their own ; and that if they assisted the father, it belonged to 
others to look after the daughter ; and, accordingly, ascertaining 
that she had ' a residence' at the West, they had despatched her 
and hers at once, under the care of a trusty person, back to the 
woods ; demanding from our town not only traveihng expenses, but 
physician's fees and sundry other charges, amounting to no incon- 
siderable sum, not to be raised without many words and sour looks, 
if it do not lead to a lawsuit between the two towns, one of which 
claims damages for ' sending the said widow to be by it maintained,' 
which the other refuses absolutely, averring that ' the said widow 
went of her o^\ti fi-ee will and accord, without compulsion or advice 
of the town authorities, whereupon said town joins issue,' &c., &c. 

The '^idow herself is meanwhile the most unconcerned person in 
the town. She declares that she had a dehghtful visit, and wouldn't 
have missed of it for anything. The ' charitable,' who contributed 
so readily to the outfit, feel a little sore ; but all join in the laugh 
at the widow's triumph, and agree to hold themselves outwitted. 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 

How many of tlie rulers and magnates of this ' wonderful coun- 
tiy,' look back to the district school as the mirsery of the tender 
germs of their gTeatness ! How many a judge can recollect when 
he earned a rap with the rattan by spelling law, lor^ or jumping 
over the bench when he ought to have been sitting quietly upon it ! 
How many a governor imbibed his fii*st notion of the dignity of 
office, from the grand air of the schoolmaster, as he paced the floor 
with the whip over his shoulder, rolhng his eyes mag-isterially, now 
on this side, now on that, giving, ever and anon, a brief word of 
command, or stopping, in awful silence, before some negligent 
scholar. How majestic appeared that functionar}^, even without his 
coat ; how en\T.able the awful sway he exercised over his charge ! 
Some ill-considered word — some unjust judgment — some sincere 
and earnest exhortation of those days, may have influenced, for good 
or ill, the moral character of all present. How important, then, is 
the agency of the \illage-school. Is it not wonderful that we 
Americans, a practical people, should take so little pains to make it 
what it should be ! 

Our little realm has been swayed by mastei's and mistresses of all 
degrees of quaUfication and deficiency. When the logs were yet so 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 279 



new that the aromatic odor of the tamarack was still fi-esh and de- 
lightful ; the desks unhacked ; the benches four-legged ; the floor 
undespoiled of its knots — we had Miss Cynthia Day, a damsel of 
few pereonal charms, and little superfluous learning. She came 
amply recommended from a neighboring town, as ' a young woman 
of good parts and behavior,' and so indeed we found her ; but her 
parts were not the parts of speech. 

' Silas r she would drawl out, ' Si-ilas ! let them 'are what's'er 
names be, dew ! You'll git it, if you don't 1' 

She was an excellent aid at a quilting, especially as she was left- 
handed, and therefore good at corners ; and she sang in meeting, 
with such good-^^ill, and in so nasal a style, that it sounded as if 
some one was blowing an accompaniment through a comb, as is 
sometimes done at village merry-makings. 

But her reign scarcely lasted out the summer. She was too 
good-natured; and, moreover, took so much snuff" that the little 
ones sneezed and cried when they stood by her knee to say their 
lessons. She was dismissed, with some civil excuses, and found a 
more fitting vocation as a tailoress, to which business, indeed, she 
was bred. 

The winter brought us Mr. Hardcastle, a young divinity student 
fi'om a neighboring village ; a sober and down-looking person, who 
spoke softly, and moved with great dehberation. He had never 
taught school before, and was regularly examined before the fi-oper 
functionaries. He spelt all the woi'ds in the spelling-book — that is, 
all the trap-words in which the examiners sought to catch him — to 
the great astonishment of all present ; defined ' Orthography,' and 
' Ratiocination,' and did the sum on the last page of the arithmetic ; 
so no possible objection could be made to him. But he, poor fel- 
low, was too delicate in mind and body for the place ; and before 



280 THE EVENING BOOK. 



the spring opened he was obliged to leave us, with a bad cough, 
and a face paler than when he came. He did not hve to finish his 
studies, and we have always supposed that that uproarious school 
hastened his end. 

The lady who succeeded him had a very angular nose, and the 
thinnest of thin lips, and the sharpest of sharp eyes. She was a 
disciplinarian. "Woe to the unlucky damsel who blotted her copy, 
or the truant wight that stayed too long when he was sent for 
water ! That little rattan was never still ; and Miss Pinkey had an 
ingenious instrument of torture, which consisted of a spht quill, that 
she placed on the ear of the offender, and then stuck him up on the 
desk, a spectacle to the school. If the offence was rank, the quill 
was exchanged for a small hickory twig, which being split and made 
to pinch the ear, produced such sounds as may be heard when a pig 
is caught unawares in a gate ; — music which was seemingly pleasant 
in the ears of Miss Pinkey. A slate held out at arm's length, or a 
book balanced on the head, varied the scene occasionally ; until the 
school ma'am established such order in school, and such confusion 
and anger in the neighborhood, that every body was glad when the 
approach of winter gave an opportunity to dismiss so efficient a 
teacher. 

All this time the ' education' of the district had not made very 
encouraging progress. Reading, ^^iting and arithmetic remained at 
a lo# ebb, while truancy and mischief had reached a formidable 
pass. It was considered high time to do something decided for the 
welfare of the rising community ; and accordingly steps were taken 
to procure a master from a certain town in the neighborhood, where 
the schools had acquired high reputation for order and progress. 
The sum of sixteen doUare per month was a great deal to pay, but 
the teacher in question would hear of nothing less ; and as he was 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 281 



to find his own board, and, would of course select the house of one 
of the committee as his home, the arrangement was at length made, 
after much debate and difficulty. Mr. Ball was engaged, and the 
school-house scrubbed out, the door new hung so that it would shut, 
and every broken pane of glass either replaced, or patched so that it 
was as good as new. There was some talk of new mudding the 
school-house before the cold weather came on, but that could not be 
carried. It was argued that with woods all round that wanted clear- 
ing, it w^as never worth while to have houses made too tight. 

On the first Monday in November, Mr. Ball made his appearance, 
dressed in a new blue suit, with a yellow waistcoat, and abundance 
of shining brass buttons. His hair was brushed into a topknot or 
rather a cock's comb, after the mode of twenty years ago, and his 
cheeks were as red as two great Spitzenberg apples. He wore a 
monstrous watch, with a very conspicuous steel chain and brass key, 
and this cumbrous apparatus was frequently drawn out and con- 
sulted, as if every moment of his time was incalculably precious — a 
circumstance which had its due effect upon the company, wherever 
he might happen to be. In short, Mr. Ball w^as a blusterer, who 
was more intent on impressing those about him with a high idea of 
his personal consequence, than on performing the duties expected of 
him. In the school he put on a most lordly air, and at first struck 
the scholars with awe ; but children are too discerning to be long 
ieceived, and they began, before a great while, to take advantage 
tf the master's foibles, and to be as idle and neghgent as ever. 
■ Yet he was not altogether a King Log either. After unbending 
S4 far as to tell the scholars long stories, in which he himself always 
mi^de a most heroic figure ; and enjoying their wondering comments 
an\ facetious remarks, he would suddenly change his tone, and 
orcBr every one to resume his studies, at the same time declaring in 



282 THE EVENING BOOK. 



a tremendous voice, ' I am Napoleon in my school !' which the boys 
understood as a threat against whoever should dare to smile in the 
ranks. 

This course produced some sensation among the parents, who 
were a good deal puzzled to interpret a character which seemed 
compounded of such incongruous quahties. Some thought 'too 
much book-larnin' made fools of people ; others that Mr. Ball, hav- 
ing had a ' select-school' of his own, could not be expected to lay 
out all his powers upon a district school. One good lady suspected 
that the master was in love ; another was afraid he drank. Theo- 
ries abounded, but no satisfactory result could be obtained, since the 
conclusion of to-day was swept away by the new freak of to- 
morrow. 

It happened that the house of Mr. Entwistle, one of the school- 
inspectors, had been chosen by Mr. Ball as a home ; and Mr. Ent- 
wistle had half a dozen mischievous daughters, who were always 
spreading some story of the master's queer doings. They declared 
however small might be the bit of candle with which they furnished 
him at bed-time, he always had hght in his room until midnight ; 
and the story was corroborated by the notorious fact that it was im- 
possible to make noise enough to arouse Mr. Ball before eight o'clock 
in the morning, when he swallowed the half-cold breakfast reserved 
for him by Mrs. Entwistle, and had but just time to reach the schoo- 
house before the clock struck nine. This encroachment upon coui- 
try customs produced much remark ; for nothing is so univeral 
among settlers as very early hours both at evening and morning. 

The girls at Mr. Entwistle's had made many a sly attempt to lis- 
cover what it was that occupied Mr. Ball so late at night, but nver 
could find an article of any description about the room, everytiing 
being carefully shut up in a large chest with a prodigious lock and 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 283 



hinges whose clasps half covered the top, as if to secure untold 
treasures. In vain did they raise false alarms to bring the master 
down staii-s ; peep through the key-hole when they heard the great 
lock turn ; and contrive reasons why the mysterious chest must be 
opened in their presence. Mr. Ball walked unconscious, and was as 
if he heard them not. When asked the direct question — as we 
blush to say he was more than once — as to what the great chest 
had in it, he answered simply, ' Nothing much.' 

This was not to be endured. Any attempt at privacy is con- 
sidered prima facie evidence of guilt ; and it began to be whispered 
that there must be something very wrong about Mr. Ball's chest. 

Now when Western people begin to suspect, they never stop 
half way. No trifles are ever thought of; but if a man is suspected 
of anything, it is as likely to be of stealing, counterfeiting, or any 
one of the seven deadly sins, as of any venial offence. So ere long 
the opinion began to be entertained that it was somehodifs duty to 
find out what was in the chest, in order to come at the master's 
reasons for sitting up so late at night. 

This idea once started, it was not difficult to decide upon the act ; 
and on a Saturday afternoon, when the schoolmaster was congratu- 
lating himself upon having finished his week's work, and had locked 
his door in his usual mysterious manner, he was surprised to be 
called dowTi stairs to a visitor. 

The most ' efficient' man in our neighborhood was Deacon Brad- 
ley ; not a bona fide deacon, but so-called because he exercised a 
sort of half paternal, half spiritual jurisdiction on the score of his 
own strictness, and the fact that he occasionally exhorted in meeting 
when no minister was present. This worthy person had been 
selected as the spokesman of those whose consciences were troubled 
on account of the supposed misdeeds of Mr. Ball. He sat with 



284 THE EVENING BOOK. 



Mr. Entwistle in the ' square room,' and both received Mr. Ball with 
an air at once solemn and fidgetty. They felt sure that they were 
in the right path, guarding the morals of the community ; yet they 
certainly felt a httle misgiving as to how the master would relish 
their interference in his affairs. So they hum'd and ha'd — to use 
Mr. Ball's own account of the scene — and dwelt so long upon the 
state of the weather and the prospects for next summer, that the 
dehnquent began to conclude the visit was intended simply as a 
mark of respect, and his natural swell was doubtless not a little 
increased. 

At length, however. Deacon Bradley approached the real subject, 
by means of some very adi'oit remarks upon the dreadful effects of 
wickedness in general, and especially of certain particular offences 
at which he more than hinted. Mr. Ball assented to all these obser- 
vations with great readiness, adding gratuitously some severe stric- 
tures of his own on the sins in question. The deacon then touched 
upon irregular habits as very apt to lead to evil ; very soon came 
down upon late hours as belonging to this class, and closed a some- 
what formal address by a direct charge upon the schoolmaster of 
setting a bad example, and exciting the suspicion of the neighbor- 
hood, by his odd ways of locking his door and never letting any- 
body see the inside of his chest ! 

It may be supposed that this attack did not meet a very amiable 
response from one used to ' awful rule, supremacy and sway,' and 
who was conscious that he knew a good deal more of ' orthography, 
etymology, syntax, and prosody,' than his lecturers, to say nothing 
of arithmetic and a smattering of surveying. He blustered a good 
deal, and stood upon his rights, and wondered what business it was 
of anybody's what he did when school was over ; but the old folks 
stuck to their point with such pertinacity, that Mr. Ball at length 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 285 



found nothing would clear his fame but exhibiting the contents 
of the fatal chest. 

So he marched Mr. Entwistle and the deacon in solemn array up 
to his room, and as soon as they were inside the door, turned the 
key and put it in his pocket, thereby occasioning some ill-disguised 
alarm on the part of the deacon, who expected nothing less than 
pistols, or some other awful engine of destruction, to pop up when 
the chest should open. 

- Now, gentlemen,' said Mr. Ball, with more than his usual swag- 
ger, ' your doubts shall be set at rest ; but, remember, that I leave 
yom- district on Monday morning, and you may find who you will 
to keep your school.' 

Mr. Entwistle paused a little upon this, and would have restrained 
his more zealous companion ; but curiosity had so far the better of 
the deacon's prudence, that he declared he felt it his duty to go on. 
Whereupon the schoolmaster unlocked the mysterious chest, and 
displayed a veiy scanty amount of shirts and stockings, with a pro- 
digious pile of James's novels, and a file or two of newspapers ; a 
phi'enological head, a few candles, and a bottle of blacking with 
brushes ! 

And this was all ! The examiners stood looking down into the 
half empty abyss ; and, we will hope, experienced some compunc- 
tious visitings ; but they owned nothing of the kind. Mr. Entwistle 
professed himself satisfied, and was about to withdraw, when he 
was recalled by an exclamation from the deacon, w^ho had taken up 
.some of the papers. 

' A Univai-sal paper !' he cried, as if hon-ified by the veiy sight. 
' A Univarsal paper ! Would you read such things as that ? 
Pretty thing for a school-teacher I should think ! For my part I 
would rather there should never be a teacher in the place than to 



28G THE EVENING BOOK. 



have a Univarsaler ! My children should never have gone a day, 
if I'd a know'd it !' 

Whether the deacon's pious indignation was entirely genuine and 
spontaneous, or whether it was called up to cover what he felt to be 
a ridiculous position, must be left doubtful. It served his turn, by 
causing Mr. Ball's angry departure to be attended by a cloud of 
odium, raised by those who, professing no religion at all, were still 
willing to embrace any opportunity of siding with those who did — 
that being the popular tone in our particular part of the country. 
It was not difficult to have it understood, that having observed cause 
of suspicion. Deacon Bradley had found ample explanation of Mr. 
Ball's conduct in the papei-s and other things found in the myste- 
rious chest, upon the particulars of which a prudent silence was 
observed by the parties concerned. 

Unfortunately for Mr. Ball's reputation, in less than a week from 
the time he left us, the schoolhouse was burnt down ; and as it had 
been closed from his departure, it seemed the easiest thing in the 
world to suppose that he and his revenge were at the bottom of the 
accident. The few friends left among us by that overbearing digni- 
tary, thought, but hardly dared to say, that, as far as probabilities 
went, it seemed quite as hkely that somebody whose intent it 
was to vihfy the schoolmaster had been accessory to the burning, as 
that Mr. Ball should have come from his place of residence, which 
was many miles off, to perform the operation, under a thousand 
chances of detection. Another doubtful point. 

After this disaster, the funds being low, Mr. Henry offered to let 
his upper chamber for the temporary use of the district, leaving the 
building of a new school-house until after harvest, when contribu- 
tions of money and labor would be much more readily obtained. 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 287 



So Miss Wealthy Turner was forthwith established in a huge, unfur- 
nished room, with a few temporary seats for the scholars, and a 
board laid upon two barrels to serve as a writing-table. This 
afforded some amusement, and so aided Miss Wealthy to keep order 
among the refractory imps, though one boy who had lived at ' the 
East,' earned the ratan by saying that we had a ' high school' now, 
because it was up stairs ; which Miss Wealthy considered an inju- 
lious and sarcastic reflection upon the dignity of the establishment. 
By way of revenging himself, the urchin called her Miss Twister, 
which coming to her ears brought him another castigation ; and 
parties soon being formed, discord began to shake her scorpion whip 
over us again. Miss Turner, however, kept her ground ; pacified 
the naughty boy's mother, by netting her a veiy curious and elabo- 
rate cap ; and vindicated her authority by such strictness in school, 
that offences gradually became less frequent, and the interests of 
learning advanced accordingly. 

One occurrence during Miss Turner's reign she would often her- 
self relate with much gout. The floor of the temporary school- 
room, being only of loose boards, afforded much opportunity of 
observing the doings of Mr. Henry's family, who hved and carried 
on all domestic operations in the room below ; and one day, when 
Mrs. Henry was making an unusual clatter in cleaning her domicile, 
and Miss Turner happened to be absent for a short time, the whole 
school were on their knees, peeping through a wide crack in their 
floor, in order to enjoy the pleasure of watching Mrs Henry, as she 
dashed water upon hers. At this very point, while every eye was 
fixed, and every nose pressed flat, in the desire to enjoy as much 
stolen pleasure as possible. Miss Wealthy returned, and, taking the 
enemy at disadvantage, administered a general corrective, before 
anybody could summon wits enough to stand on the defensive. 



288 THE EVENING BOOK. 



The general discomfitm-e and crest-fallenness of even the boldest 
may be imagined ! and Miss Wealthy Turner's triumph ! 

It is really astonishing how savage and Herod-hke school-keep- 
ing makes some people. Miss Wealthy got married not long after 
this ; and some of us thought he was a bold man that took her. 



THE SINGING SCHOOL. 

* Music has charms,' unquestionably ; we have gi^eat authority 
for defending the proposition against all challengers. What a 
disquisition we might write upon such a text ! but we will not 
venture upon abstractions. Let us rather apply to facts, and 
inquire to what amount of effort and sacrifice music not absolutely 
perfect mil induce unsophisticated people to submit ; what 
departures from all-compelling habit will seem tolerable when music 
is the object ; what momentous results may follow when the concord 
of sweet sounds (aided by the pitch-pipe,) has waked up all the 
tenderness that ventures to sojourn in the breast of the stout 
backwoodsman. 

People in the country never go in search of music. It comes to 
them ; not from the ' sweet south,' but from the yellow orient, (the 
land of pumpkins.) in the shape of lank youths, of aspect faintly 
clerical, wearing black coats on which the rime of age has begun to 
settle, and 'excellent white' bosoms, curiously wrought — ' welked 
bosoms,' indeed, perhaps typical of the wounds and scars left by 
the cruel archer who is so busy at singing schools. These 
' professors ' — a name which they often assume with pecuhar 
propriety — generally carry their breadwinners with them, in the 
13 



290 THE EVENING BOOK. 



sole sliape of a stout pair of lungs, and a flexile organ — nasal organ 
we mean — habituated to the modulation of sound. He who brings 
a flute takes rank accordingly ; the happy possessor of a bassviol 
can afford to beard the minister himself in the choice of tunes. 
These last do not often enlighten the woodland and prairie regions : 
they haunt the larger towns, where dignity may hope to find a soil 
wherein to flourish. 

The arrival of the first singing-master in our village was a 
crisis. The fine arts then dawned upon us, and a genial excite- 
ment was the due result. What was ordinary business, except as it 
earned leisure or money — sweeping and dusting, unless to get the 
square-room in order for a call — churning, but to make butter for a 
tea- visit which might happen ? The girls flew about, as somebody 
irreverently says, ' like geese before a storm ; ' the young men 
looked black as the storm itself, when they thought of the formida- 
ble competition that now threatened their influence. Meanwhile, 
Mr. Fasole was sitting on the counter at the store, telling great 
things of himself, and asking questions about the neighborhood. 
The news went by nature's own telegraph, and the remotest corner 
of the town knew in ample time of the singing-school we were 
to have at B . 

The school-house was crowded the very fii-st night, and lighted 
on the individual principle, that is, by each member bringing 
his own candle. The candlesticks were mostly extemporary — a 
block of wood with a hole in it, or a little knot of paper, or 
a scooped turnip^to be held in the haud during the whole 
evening, since they were not made to stand. The candles seemed, 
indeed, rather made to run ; at least that was what they did, most 
uncontrollably ; but the absorbing interest of the moment was such, 
that the inconvenience was hardly noticed. Mr. Fasole appeared in 



THE SINGING SCHOOL. 291 



the awful desk, his vermiHon head looming out from the blackboard 
behind him, hke the rising moon in the dark sky of autumn. 
Before him lay a pile of singing-books, which he informed the 
assembly, — in the course of a few preliminary remarks on music in 
general and his own music especially, — he had brought with him, 
merely for their convenience, at one dollar each. At this stage, 
those who had brought with them Sacred Choirs, and Singer's 
Assistants, and Vocal Harmonists, that had been heir-looms in the 
family long before the emigration, looked somewhat blank, and 
sighed. But Mr. Fasole went on, showing such science, such taste, 
such utter contempt for all other methods than his own, that the old 
books disappeared, one by one ; dissolving, perhaps, hke the candles, 
but at any rate becoming invisible. 

When the class came to be formed, the dollar singing-book 
proved like a huge rock in the track of a railway ; there w^as no 
getting over it or round it ; it must be tunnelled right through, but 
how ? Would the scientific man take corn, — would he accept 
shingles, — would butter do, — would eggs pass current ? Could the 
dollar be paid in board or lodging, or washing or sewing ? ' An 
order on the store,' — ' my cloth at the fulling-mill,' — ' that lot of 
yarn,' — ' our cosset lamb,' — ' a panful of maple sugar,' — such were 
the distincter sounds that rose above the chorus, as each claimed to 
be excused from paying cash down. Mr. Fasole was wise ; he 
accepted a composition in every case in which he had not privately 
satisfied himself that the money would be forthcoming at the last 
pinch, and the class came to order for the first lesson. 

We know not what Mr. Hullah's success may be among the 
cockneys, but with us, ' music for the million ' is a serious matter. 
Contortions dire and sad grimace, and sounds as when a flock of 
much maligned birds, disturbed from their resting-place by the 



292 THE EVENING BOOK. 



road-side, revenge themselves by screaming at the interloper — all 
were there. But not a muscle of the teacher's face showed that he 
was the conscious possessor of ears. With looks of unperturbed 
gravity, he gave the signal to begin — to stop — to stop — to stop 
ngain, and begin again. He himself led the panting host, his chin 
buried deep in his stock, and his eyebrows raised as if to be out of 
the way of the volume of sound that issued from the mouth that 
opened like an oyster below. This laborious diligence soon 
rendered an intermission necessary, and as it had been agreed to do 
all things with great order and propriety, the master announced that 
the company were to keep their seats, while water (much needed) 
should be brought to them ; which was done accordingly — the 
school-pail and tin cup being carried round by one of the stoutest 
youths, and the refreshing beverage distributed amid much tittering 
and some pretendedly accidental spillings by the giddier members. 

Part second proceeded on a more moderate scale. Some little 
exhaustion was felt, and the candles being slender, were failing even 
faster than the strength of the company. Joe Deal's burnt down to 
his fingers unawares, as he was leaning over to talk to Sarah Giles ; 
and his not very poHte or well-considered exclamation thereupon 
was reprehended with severe dignity by the professor. This caused 
something of a hiatus in the performance, and it was almost 
hopeless to restore the order that had reigned before the inter- 
mission. The allotted time had not elapsed, however, and a smart 
rap on the desk recalled public attention. All bent assiduously over 
the book, and the harmony was about to be renewed, when Ansel 
Green, who was always an unlucky fellow, set his own huge shock 
of hair on fire, and illuminated the room with a blaze that reached 
nearly to the ceiling. 

This naturally finished the first meeting ; for not only did th^ 



THE SINGING SCHOOL. 093 



accident create the ' most admired disorder,' but the piteous look, 
and diving self-abstraction of poor Ansel, brought out irrepressible 
and continuous laughter that was too much even for Mr. Fasole ; 
though as soon as he could compose his countenance, he assured the 
company that nothing was more common than for people to burn 
off all their hair in learnino- to sino- thouo-h he did not think it wjis 
necessary. 

The fame of our sing-ing-school spread far and wide, and each 
return of the regular evening brought i>.cruits from distant parts, 
whose ambition had been awakened by the great accounts industri- 
ously circulated of the success of Mr. I'asole. Some of these recruite 
were by no means raw, and they brought with them settled opinions 
on certain points connected with church-singing, by no means 
agreeable to Mr. Fasole. Strange perversion of human nature, that 
makes discord but too often the result of harmony ! Sharps, flats, 
and naturals are amiable in their place, but in musical quarrels how 
they jangle ! Old tunes and new tunes, particular metres, and 
minor chords, quick and slow, false and true, everything was theme 
for difference. It was beheved, actually, that one of the new-comers 
was a singing master in disguise, so ' cunning of fence' did he show 
himself in all matters relating to the due effect of church music. 
Poor Mr. Fasole's face grew anxious, till his very hair looked faded, 
at this invasion of his prerogative. When he could not refute, he 
sneered ; when outgeneralled, he attempted revenge ; but, as in all 
cases, the more angry he grew, the worse his cause prospered. Peo- 
ple took sides, as a matter of course, and the wise chose the side 
whose leader seemed coolest. 

But fortune interfered in favor of the lawful occupant of the 
ground. It came to light, that the insidious foe who had troubled 
our ' piping times of peace,' was not only a singing-master, but a 



294 THE EVENING BOOK. 



married man ! a person who had really nothing interesting about 
him, and who had, from the mere pedagogical infirmity of loving to 
dictate, taken the trouble to come over and spoil our sport ! The 
faithful grew louder than ever in their praises of Mr. Fasole ; the 
neutrals gave in their allegiance, and even the opposition slipped as 
quietly as possible back to their old position, striving, by extra 
docility, to atone for a short defection. For once legitimacy 
triumphed, and renewed zeal showed itself in utter disregard of the 
dripping of candles, or even the scorching of hair. 

The prettiest girl that attended our singing-meetings was Jane 
Gordon, the only daughter of a Scotchman who had lately bought 
a farm in the neighborhood. She was a fair and gentle damsel, 
soft-spoken and down-looking, but not without a stout will of her 
own, such as, they do say, your very soft-spoken people are apt to 
have. Indeed, we may argue that to be able at all times to com- 
mand one's voice down to a given level, requires a pretty strong will, 
and more self-possession than impetuous people ever can have ; and 
it is well known that blusterers are easier governed than anybody 
else. Jane Gordon had light hair, too, which hasty observers are 
apt to consider a sign of a mild and complying temper ; but our 
dear Jane, though a good girl, and a dutiful daughter, had had a 
good deal of trouble with old Adam, and given her sober parents a 
good deal too. 

So that, by and by, when is was whispered that Jane Gordon was 
certainly in love with Mr. Fasole, and that Mr. Fasole was at least 
very attentive to Jane Gordon, the old people felt a good deal 
troubled. They were prudent, however, and only watched and 
waited, though quite determined that an itinerant singing-master 
should not carry off their treasure, to be a mere foot-bali of Fortune, 
and have. 



THE SINGING SCHOOL. 295 



nor house nor ha', 
Nor fire, nor candle-light. 



And at every smging-meeting the intimacy between Mr. Fasole and 
his fair pupil became more apparent, and the faces of the unappro- 
priated damsels longer and longer. The district-schoolmaster, that 
winter, was a frightful old man, with a face like a death's-head, set 
off by a pair of huge round-eyed spectacles, so he was out of the 
question, even if he had not had a wife and family to share his 
sixteen dollars a month. The store-keeper, Squire Hooper's partner, 
had impudently gone off to the next tow^n for a wife, but a few 
weeks before ; and a young lawyer who talked of settling among 
us as soon as there was anything to do — (he had an eye on the 
setting-back of the mill-pond, we suspect) — did nothing but smoke 
cigars and play checkers on the store-counter, and tell stories of the 
great doings at the place he had been haunting before he came 
among us. So the dearth of beaux was stringent, mere farmer-boys 
being generally too shy to make anything of, until they have bought 
land and stock, when they begin to look round, with a business eye, 
for somebody to make butter and cheese. Mr. Fasole, with his know- 
ing air, and a plentiful stock of modest assurance, reigned paramount, 
*the cynosure of neighboring eyes.' He 'cut a wide swath,' the 
young men said, and it may be supposed they owed him no good 
will. 

How matters can remain for any length of time in such an explo- 
sive state without an eruption, let philosophers tell. Twice a week, 
for a whole, long, Western winter, did the singing-school meet 
regularly at the school-house, and practise the tunes which were to 
be sung on Sunday ; and every Sunday did one or two break-downs 
attest that improvement in music could not have been the sole 
object of such persevering industry. Sometimes a bold bass would 



296 THE EVENING BOOK. 



be found finishing off, for a bar or two, in happy unconsciousness that 
its harmonious compeeis had ceased to vibrate. Then again, owing 
to the failure, through timidity or obhviousness, of some main stay, 
the whole volume of sound would quaver away, trembling into 
silence or worse, while the minister would shut his eyes, with a look 
.of meek endurance, and wait until Mr. Fasole, frowning, and putting 
on something of the air with which we jerk up the head of a stumb- 
ling horse, could get his unbroken team in order again. Jane Gor- 
don was not very bright at singing, perhaps because she w^as suffer- 
ing under that sort of fascination which is apt to make people stupid ; 
and she was often the ' broken tooth and foot out of joiut' at whose 
door these unlucky accidents were laid by the choir. Mr. Fasole 
always took her part, however, and told the accuser to 'look at 
home,' or hinted at some by-gone blunder of the whole class, or 
declared that Miss Jane evidently had a bad cold — not the first 
time that a bad cold has served as an apology for singing out of 
time. 

The period for a spring quarterly meeting of one of the leading 
denominations now drew nigh, and a great gathering was expected. 
Ministers from far and near, and a numerous baptism in the pond, 
were looked for. Preparations of all sorts were set on foot, and 
among the rest, music ' suited to the occasion.' The choice of ' set 
pieces' and anthems, and new tunes, gave quite a new direction and 
spur to the musical interest ; but Mr. Fasole and Jane Gordon were 
not forgotten. There was time to watch them, and sing too. 
Through the whole winter, the singing-master thought proper to 
see Miss Gordon home, except when it was veiy cold or stormy, 
when he modestly withdrew, with an air which said he did not 
wish his attentions to seem particular. It had become quite a trick 
with the young men to listen by the roadside, in order to ascertain 



THE SINGING SCHOOL. 297 



wlietlier lie did not pop the question somewhere between the school- 
house and Mr. Gordon's ; but the conclusion was, that either he was 
too discreet to do it, or too cunning to let it be heard, for nothing 
could ever be distinguished but the most ordinary taUc. Nothing 
could be more obvious, however, than that, whatever were Mr. Fa- 
sole's intentions, poor Jane was very much in earnest. She lost all 
her interest in the village circle, and, too honest and sincere for con- 
cealment, only found her spirits when the fascinating singing-master 
appeared. — He had the magnetizer's power over the whole being of 
the pupil. The parents observed all this with the greatest uneasiness, 
and remonstrated with her on the imprudence of her conduct, but 
in vain. They reminded her that no one knew anything about the 
singing-master, and that he very probably had at least one wife 
elsewhere, although it was past the art of man to betray him into 
any acknowledgement of such incumbrance ; but Jane was deaf to 
all caution, and evidently only waited for the votary of music to 
make up his mind to ask, before she should courtesy and say yes. 

The quarterly meeting came on, and Squire Hooper's big barn 
w^as filled to overflowing. A long platform had been erected for 
the ministers, and rough seats in abundance for the congregation ; 
but every beam, pin, and ' coign of vantage,' was hung with human 
life, in some shape or other. Such a gathering had not been seen in 
a long while. Li front was placed Mr. Fasole, with Jane Gordon 
on his left hand. White was his bosom, (outside,) and fiery red 
his hair and face, as he wrought vehemently in beating time, while 
he sent out volumes, not to say whole editions, of sound. One 
could not but conclude that every, emotion of his soul must find 
utterance in the course of the morning's performance, if Jane Gordon 
only hstened aright, which she seemed very well disposed to do. 
But the concluding hymn was to be the crowning effort. It abound- 



298 THE EVENING BOOK. 



ed in fugues — those fatal favorites of country choirs, and had also 
several solos, which Mr. Fasole had assigned to Jane Gordon, in 
spite of the angry inuendoes of other pretenders. He had drilled 
her most perseveringiy, and, though not without some misgivings, 
had succeeded in persuading himself, as well as his pupil, that she 
would get through these ' tight places' very well, with a httle help 
from him. 

When the whole immense assembly rose to listen while the 
choir performed this ' set piece,' it was with a sound hke the rushing 
of many waters, and poor Jane, notwithstanding the whispered 
assurances of the master, began to feel her courage oozing out, as 
w^oman's courage is apt to do just when it is most wanted. She 
got through her portion of the harmony with tolerable credit ; but 
when it came to the fii-st solo, it was as if one did take her by the 
throat, and the sounds died away on her hps. Dread silence ensued, 
but in a moment, from the other side of the barn, seemingly from a 
far distant loft, a female voice, clear, distinct, and well trained, took 
up the recreant strain, and carried it through triumphantly. Then 
the chorus rose, and, encouraged by this opportune aid, performed 
their part to admiration — so well, indeed, and with so much enthu- 
siasm, that they did not at first miss the leading of Mr. Fasole. 
When the solo's turn came, they had time to look round : and while 
the distant voice once more sent its clear tones meandering among 
the rafters and through the mows and out of the wide doors, all the 
class turned to look at the master. There he stood — agape — astare 
— pale — spiritless — astonished — petrified ; his jaw fiillen, his nose 
pinched in, his eyes sunken and hollow and fixed in wild gaze on 
the dim distance whence issued the potent sound, while poor Jane's 
fascinated optics gazed nowhere but on him. But before note could 
be taken of their condition, the chorus must once more join in the 



THE SINGING SCHOOL. 299 



last triumphant burst, for the new auxihary had inspired them hke 
a heavenly visitant, and they could not attend to sublunary things. 
They finished in a perfect blaze of glory, the unknown voice sound- 
ing far above all others, and carrying its part as independently as 
Mr. Fasole himself could have done. 

' What is the matter with the singing-master V ' Has he got a 
fit f 'Is he dying V was whispered through the crowd as soon as 
the meeting was dismissed. 'Bring water — whiskey — a fan — oh 
goodness ! what is to be done V 

' Let me come to him,' said a powerful voice just at hand ; and, 
as the crowd opened, a tall, masculine woman, of no very prepos- 
sessing exterior, made her way to the fainting Orpheus. 

' Jedediah !' she exclaimed, giv'ing a stout hft to the drooping 
head ; ' Jedediah ! don't you know your own Polly Ann V 

It was Mrs. Fasole — a very promising scholar whom the unhappy 
teacher had married at the scene of former laboi's, somewhere in the 
interior of Illinois, hoping to find her a true help-meet in the pro- 
fessional line. But, discovering to his cost that she understood only 
one kind of harmony, and that not of the description most valuable in 
pnvate, he had run away from her and her big brothers, and hoped, 
in the deep seclusion of still newer reg-ions, to escape her for ever, 
and pass for that popular person, an agreeable bachelor. Whether 
he was really villain enough to have intended to marry poor Jane 
too, we cannot know, but we will charitably hope not ; though we 
are not sure that wantonly to tiifle with an innocent girl's affections 
for the gratification of his vanity was many shades less culpable. 
The world judges differently, we know, since it makes one offence 
punishable by law, while the other is considered, in certain circles, 
rather a good joke than otherwise. But the singing-master and his 
fearful spouse disappeared, and those who had not joined the class 



300 THE EVENING BOOK 

exulted ; while, as far as public demonstration went, we could not 
see but the singing at meeting fell back to very nearly the old mark, 
under the auspices of old deacon Ingalls, who has for many years 
been troubled with a polypus in his nose. 

Jane Gordon is a much more sensible girl than she was two years 
ago, and looks with no httle complacency upon Jacob Still, a neigh- 
bor's son, who boasts that he can turn a furrow much better than he 
can a tune. 



A WEDDING IN THE WOODS. 

It has been said that one who would retire from the world, 
should betake himself to a large city. Certain it is that in the 
country, where everybody seems to feel a personal responsibility for 
the doings of the neighborhood, nothing is more difficult than 
to maintain an independent course as to one's own affairs. What is 
known to be the expressed sentiment of all about you, exercises 
more or less influence, do what you will ; and you are as apt 
to show your respect for the town-talk by an angry persistence, as by 
a timid relinquishment of your plans. It certainly requires more 
philosophy than most country people possess, to live as if the 
neighbors were cabbages — no difficult attainment in the city. 

There was one family near the little village of B — , who were 

regarded at once with suspicion and a somewhat unwilhng respect, 
from the quiet and original course which they adopted ; resolutely 
following out their own plans, and rarely expressing an opinion as to 
the doings of their neighbors. Mr. Arnold came to the West with 
some property, although he was a hard-working farmer ; and when he 
was about to put up his log-house, instead of calling the neighbors 
together, and having a grand frolic, with plenty of whiskey, at the 
raising, he quietly hired the requisite number of laborers, and had his 
house ready for roofing before anybody knew the timbers were hewed. 



302 THE EVENING BOOK. 



This caused many a frown, and not a little shaking of the head 
among the sages of the vicinity, who saw nothing but ' pride ' — that 
unpardonable sin of the woods — in this way of doing things. 

Here we must turn a little aside to describe what most of 
our readers have probably never seen — a veritable log-house — an 
important affair in western life. 

The loff-house in which it was our fate first to look western life 

o 

in the face, was a rather unusually rough one, built when the country 
was quiet new, before a road was made, or any access beyond a 
bridle-path through the woods, or, more properly, the 'openings.' 
Its dimensions were tvventy-four feet by eighteen — no great area, but 
not encroached upon by the chimney, which was carried up outside, 
after the fashion of what children call a jackstraw house, i. e, with 
sticks laid in a square, crossing at the corners. The portion of the 
wall against which leaned this very primitive-looking outlet for the 
smoke, was composed of a great slab of rough stone ; otherwise, all 
around was wood — a boundless provision for roast pig after Charles 
Lamb's fashion. The clay with which the stick chimney was lined, 
fell off, day by day, so that its catching fire in spots was almost a 
daily occurrence, and continual watchfulness was required, especially 
in the evening, since a midnight bonfire in the woods is no very un- 
common accident. The hearth which belonged to this chimney was 
quite in keeping ; for it was made of rough fragments, split off the 
boulders which are the only stone to be found in that part of the 
country ; and laid with such indifference to level, that some points 
were from four to six inches higher than their neighbors. No man- 
telpiece surmounted this savage fire-place ; but a crotched post on 
one side supported a wooden crane, which swung far enough above 
the fire not to catch, unless the blaze was more aspiring than 
ordinary. 



A WEDDING IN THE WOODS. 303 



On one side of the fire-place was a ladder, leading to the loft 
above ; on the other, a few rough shelves, on which to arrange the 
household apparatus — so few, that all our previous notions of the 
incapacity of a log-house had not taught us to reduce our stock low 
enough. An additional closet, outside the house, proved to be one 
of the first requisites for a new home ; and besides this, a centre-table, 
which had once done drawing-room duty, was put in requisition as 
a cupboard, a tablecloth to keep out dust being the substitute for a 
door. 

If the arrangements to be made within this small space of twenty- 
four by eighteen had been only those of kitchen and dining-room 
the necessities of back-woods hfe would have reconciled one to the 
narrowness of the quartei's ; but when bed-chamber and nursery 
were to be crowded into the same area, the packing became almost 
as difficult as the feat of putting a bushel of lime, a bushel of sand, 
and eight gallons of water into one and the same bushel measure 
together, w^hich we had heard of, but never beheved until we made 
om* log-house arrangements. However, by the aid of some heRvj 
curtains — a partition which seemed almost all that one could wish, 
by contrast with the cotton sheets which were in general use for 
that pui"pose through the countiy, at that time — we contrived to 
make two bed-rooms, each about as large as a steamboat state-room. 
The loft above afforded floor room for beds, but was not high enough 
to allow one to stand upright, except in the very centre, under the 
ridge of the roof. 

The floors in this unsophisticated dwelling were of a correspond- 
ing simplicity. Hea^•y oak plank, laid down without nails or fast- 
ening of any kind, somewhat warped, and not very closely packed, 
afforded a footing by no means agreeable, or even secure. To trip 
in crossing the room, even at a sedate pace, was nothing uncommon ; 



304 THE EVENING BOOK. 



and the children were continually complaining of the disappearance 
of their playthings, which shd through the cracks to regions unex- 
plored. 

About the middle of the floor was a trap-door, composed of three 
loose pieces of board, which had to be taken up separately when one 
would descend into the ' cellar.' This so-called cellar was a hole 
dug in the earth, without wall, floor, or window ; and the only mode 
of access to it was by the said trap-door, without steps of any kind. 
The stout damsels who sometimes did us the favor to perform cer- 
tain domestic offices for our benefit, used to place a hand on each 
side the trap, and let themselves down with an adventurous swing, 
returning to the upper air by an exertion of the arms which would 
be severe for many a man unaccustomed to muscular effort. Such 
a door as this was of course hterally a trap ; for as it was necessa- 
rily left open while any one was below, stepping down into it una- 
wares was by no means an infrequent accident. So that if there 
was no Radcliffian mystery about it, there was at least the exciting 
chance of a broken limb. 

This same loose floor, with the open spaces beneath it, had an- 
other interesting chance attending it. Strange httle noises, like 
whispers, and occasional movements during the stillness of night, 
told that we were not the only settlers under the roof; and one fine 
spring morning, when the sun shone warm and the eaves were 
trickling with the thaw of a light snow, a beautiful rattlesnake 
glided out from below the house, and set off for the pond at a very 
dignified pace. His plans were partially frustrated ; for about a 
foot or so of his tail was cut off before he had proceeded far ; but 
his head took the hint, and inspired the body with such unwonted 
activity, that we could never ascertain whether he died of mortifica- 
tion or not. Such tenants as this were not to be desired, and we 



A WEDDING IN THE WOODS. 305 



made a thorough search after the family, but they had not waited a 
writ of ejectment. 

Toads, too, were among our social inmates. They are fond of 
hopping in, in a neighborly way, during the twilight, and will sit 
staring and winking at you as if they were tipsy. If you drive them 
out, they never take offence, but come again very soon, seeming as 
good-natured as ever. They are very well if you do not tread on 
them. 

The walls of a log-house are of course very rough and uneven ; 
for the logs are laid up unhewn, as probably most of our city 
readeis have observed in pictures. The deep indentations are 
partially filled with strips of wood, and then plastered with wet 
clay, which falls off continually, and requii-es partial renewing every 
autumn. This clay, in its dry state, gives off incessantly an impal- 
pable dust, which covers and pervades everything ; so that the office 
of housemaid is no sinecure. In addition to this annoyance, 
the beams not being plastered, soon become worm-eaten, and the 
worms are not like snails, that stay forever at home — but we will 
not pursue the subject. Suffice to say, it is inconvenient to have 
anybody walking about aloft while you sit at dinner. 

To go on with our story. After the raising, Mi-s. Arnold was ill ; 
and far from having her room thronged with the wise women of the 
neighborhood, trjdng as many fumigations, draughts, and ' yarb- 
drinks,' as would have sufficed to kill nine well women, Mr. Arnold 
stayed at home from the field, day after day, apparently for no 
other purpose than to stand guard at her door, letting nobody 
in besides the doctor and nurse ; and comforting the anxiety of the 
neighboi-s by assurances that Mrs. Arnold was doing very well. 
This Avas a deep offence ; and though Mrs. Arnold had recovered, so 
as to ride out before anybody forgot the slight sufficiently to call to 



306 THE EVENING BOOK. 



see her, yet she expressed no surprise or sorrow, but treated her 
visitors with her usual quiet kindness. 

The Arnolds went on prosperously ; showing a kind interest at all 
proper opportunities, and making the worthier neighbors like them, 
whether they would or no. The reserve which had been set down 
to pride and ill-will, came to be considered only oddity ; and at the 
period when the wedding took place of which we began to tell, 
nobody in the whole town was more popular than the Arnold 
family. Perhaps the growing up of a sweet, comely daughter 
in the family was an unrecognized element of harmony between the 
Arnolds and those about them. A young woman who is lovely 
both in person and character is irresistible everywhere. She is the 
light of her father's house, the ornament of society, and the point at 
which the admiration, interest and affection of those about her 
naturally concentrate. She is in the social circle what the moss-rose 
is in the garden — of the same general nature with the rest, but half 
veiled, fresh and delicate ; in her very modesty and retiringness 
outshining all others — the emblem of sweet reserve and innocent 
pleasure. Our friends, the Arnolds, possessed such a treasure, and 
they prized her as she deserved. They required of her all womanly 
duty ; but they had her carefully instructed, and watched over her 
with aa intelligent care, which, while it did not interfere with 
the exercise of her own judgment, guarded her against all the 
coarseness but too rife in that region. 

The fair Lois had long been considered ' on the fence ' between 
two lovers ; and, as usual, the affair, though it might be supposed a 
matter to interest only those immediately concerned, became the 
especial business of everybody in the neighborhood. Whenever 
poor Lois walked out she would encounter prying eyes at every 
window and door, on the watch to discover whom she might meet, 



A WEDDING IN THE WOODS. 307 

and what direction might be given to her steps. If she turned down 
the Jane that led to old Mr. Gillett's, the world became sure that 
Frank Gillett was the happy man; if, on the contrary, she kept 
straight onward to the village, it was to see the handsome 
storekeeper, Sam Brayton, who had long visited at Mr. Arnold's on 
Sunday evenings, and was disposed to extend his sittings further into 
the night than had been the custom of that sober mansion. It was 
recorded of Sam that he always sat, in pretended unconsciousness 
of the lateness of the hour, until Mrs. Arnold had put up her knit- 
ting with a very audible yawn, and Mr. Arnold had brought in a 
huge shovel, and a pail of water, in preparation for covering up the 
lire. Miss Lois, at the same time, becoming very taciturn, and re- 
tm'ning only monosyllabic replies to the sallies of her admirer, he 
was obliged to beat a retreat — a monument of the power of 
passive resistance. Frank Gillett, on the contrary, had not patience 
for this sort of blockade. He waylaid Lois sometimes as she was 
returning from her Uncle Dyer's on horseback ; or dashed in, on 
some pretended errand, in the middle of the forenoon, when Mrs. 
Arnold was deep in churning, and Lois plying the graceful great 
wheel in the ' chamber ' — a wide space of bare boards above the 
spacious lower story of Mr. Arnold's log-house. Frank also felt it 
his duty to keep Lois duly apprized of all the cases of sickness or 
shocking accidents in the neighborhood ; as she was a nice Httle 
nurse, and a famous ' watcher ' — this last no sinecure in a country 
village, where the well are often worn out in nightly attendance, 
in cases of so httle importance that city people would not think of 
requiring such service. When Lois's ministrations in this way were 
in demand, Frank always came for her, and so saved her father the 
necessity of going out in the evening — a thing hated by all 



308 THE EVENING BOOK. 



hard-working farmers, wlio usually love to sit dozing in the chimney 
corner, when they do not go to bed at nightfall. 

Lois was a good girl, and a pretty girl, and an only daughter ; so 
it is not wonderful that her hand was considered quite a speculation, 
and many a wild fellow from some miles' distance had tried to 
interest her ; but her innocence and dehcacy were proof against 
such equivocal courtship. She treated the two ' neebor lads ' we 
have mentioned, with a modest confidence, and avoided, with native 
tact, giving preference to either — perhaps, because she really felt 
none. They had grown up together on friendly terms, and as there 
seemed no particular period at which the young men became lovers, 
so the fair Lois chose to ignore the fact — though we shrewdly 
suspect she was not blind to what everybody in the village saw and 
talked of — the keen though subdued rivahy of Sam Brayton and 
Frank Gillett. 

If the two suitors had been Italians, instead of offsets from the 
quiet and law-abiding stock of Puritanism, there were not wanting 
occasions in the course of their pm-suit of the prize, when stilettos 
might have been di'awn and blood spilt. But a peaceful education 
led them rather to seek to gain the point by stratagem ; and many 
a strawberry party, many a sleighing, many a pic-nic (or barbecue, 
as such things are called at the West), did the young people of the 
neighborhood enjoy, for which they might have thanked Lois 
Arnold, whoever may have claimed the honor : for ouf two 
enamored swains w^ere at their wits' end for some means of 
interesting this object of their emulation, and overcoming her 
formidable impartiality. 

It was chance, after all, that brought matters to a focus ; for Lois 
was riding out with a party of young people, when her horse took 
it into his head to run away, and Frank Gilk^tt, in n^sciiinp,- lier from 



A WEDDING IN THE WOODS. 309 



imminent danger, brought his own life into peril, and was carried 
home much injured. We will not assert that this brought Lois to 
decide in his favor ; for we have a notion that no love worth having 
is based on merely accidental causes. But it certainly made 
evident a preference, w^hich, perhaps, existed previously ; and before 
Fi-ank was quite enough recovered to take his place on the farm 
again, the story was afloat that Sam Brayton had decidedly ' got 
the mitten.' 

He did not take this very amiably ; that would have been quite 
out of character for a country beau. Writing poetry, or contempla- 
ting the stars, is not among the resources of the rejected in a 
primitive state of society ; and the duel — that unanswerable mode 
of proving one's worth — is hardly known even by name. To talk 
of ' thrashing ' — not the lady, but the accepted swain — is much 
more characteristic ; but Frank Gillett was such a good fellow, and 
bore his honors with so httle of a swell, that even this was hardly 
feasible ; so Brayton bided his time. 

When harvest was over, and all the grain safely housed, spring 
wheat in, and corn ready for husking, Frank had time to be 
married ; and it was decided that Lois Arnold ought to have 
' a real wedding.' This implied a regular frohc ; a turning the 
house out of window, and converting incredible quantities of flour 
and sugar, milk and eggs, into delicacies for the delectation of a 
wide sweep of country — not to mention dancing ad libitum. 
What toils are undergone ! what anxieties experienced ! what 
fingers burnt — in this grand preparation, the muse must not 
attempt to tell. Some village Homer has yet to sing such feasts for 
the admiration of after ages. 

A very usual mode — we may venture to say the usual mode — of 
binding one's self, for better or for worse, in the western country, is 



310 THE EVENING BOOK. 



to have the knot tied by the nearest justice — a form so succinct that 
one could scarcely wonder, if everybody should forget the whole 
affair the next hour. The man in authority stands up, with a grave 
countenance, takes hold of a chair, by which to steady himself while 
he speaks, and looks straight at the young couple — which last is not 
to be wondered at, for they are generally quite a spectacle, with 
their white hps and cheeks of rainbow hue. 

So stood Lois Arnold and Frank Gillett before Squire Millard ; 
Lois in a dress of soft silvery looking silk, with a white rose in her 
hair and another in her hand ; and Frank, with his fine athletic 
person set out in a white waistcoat for the occasion, and his face 
looking anything but pale. Even Lois seemed more inchned to 
laugh than cry, and some young ladies whispered — ' She don't 
mind it a bit ] ' 

What was the surprise of the company, when the Squire, after a 
vain effort to command his countenance, said — 
I ' I certify that Francis Gillett and Lois Arnold were lawfully 
married a week ago. ' 

After this announcement Squire Millard made good his retreat, 
not being a dancer, and having, moreover, a vague fear that he 
might be torn to pieces in the frantic demonstrations of surprise 
which succeeded the first pause — such a pause as ensues upon an 
unusually heavy clap of thunder. 

Everybody stood aghast, at first, as if some great wrong had been 
committed ; and after the grand surprise was over, and the amiables 
of the neighborhood had joined in the dance with new zest in 
consequence of the stir occasioned by the denouement, a fe^v 
disaflected young men — Sam Brayton and his friends — still stood 
aloof, and whispered in corners, casting now and then a look at the 
nc\Aly-married couple that was anything but friendly. They knew 



A WEDDING IN THE WOODS. 311 

voiy well tliat the thing* was a trick to avoid certain annoyances, 
which are not uncommon on wedding-occasions in the country, when 
anybody feels aggrieved by the circumstances of the marriage. If 
the right people are not invited ; or if the match is so dispropor- 
tioned in age as to excite the indignation of the sovereign people ; 
or if some old bluebeard takes a third helpmate — any of these 
causes, or even less, is sufficient to excuse a sort of row, which is 
kept up for houi*s under the windows, or until those concerned open 
the doors and ' treat. ' 

It was plain enough that the party, who espoused the cause of 
mitten-holder, did not mean to be cheated of their cliarivari ; but 
the dancing went on, and the hilarity of the occasion continued 
unbroken, until eleven o'clock, when the company dropped off, a 
wagon full at a time, till at length all was quiet, and no sign of life 
was left about the premises, except a light or two, burning dimly in 
the house. 

Then began the din. Bells, guns, drams, tin horns, whistlesA 
frying pans, and shovels, aided the unearthly bowlings of the 
performers, until the neighbors a mile off heard the disturbance, and 
the owls in the woods hooted in concert. This went on for an hour 
or two, but there were no signs of capitulation on the part of the 
fortress. The lights burned on as quietly as ever, and not a sound 
could be heard, though Sam Bray ton laid his ear to the windov/, 
and listened with all his might. Further demonstrations were now- 
judged advisable, and a bunch of thick rods was procured, with 
which the assailants beat against the house itself, which being 
partly boarded, made a prodigious reverberation. Still no door 
opened. Guns were fired as near the windows as possible, pebbles 
were thrown down the chimney, and a ])i<2; hung by the leg to the 
latch of the doijr ; but no remoustrancG w as heard. Bv this time, 



4«N / 





312 THE EVENING BOOK. 



the night had so far waned that some symptoms of dawn began to 
be observable in the east, and the conspirators, weary and disap- 
pointed, began to talk of going home to bed. 

* I Ve worked harder than I ever did in harvest,' said one. 

' Harvest ! ' exclaimed another. ' Thrashin' time 's nothing to it 1 
Let's go home ! ' 

' Stop a minute, ' said Sam Brayton, stung at the ill success of 
his plans ; ' PU make 'em come out, yet ! ' and with the word he 
threw a large stone at the upper window, with force enough to 
break it, sash and all, but not to endanger those within. 

Upon the accomphshment of this feat, the whole party fled, for 
the ' law ' has great terrors for the backwoodsman, though he 
inflicts it upon others with small provocation. Every one ran home, 
and crept into bed as quietly as possible, lest the offence should be 
fastened on him, which would have brought double punishment of 
expense and mortification — so complete was the failure. 

In spite of all these precautions, however, the matter was brought 
liome to Sam Brayton so undeniably that he was glad to repair the 
damage to avoid worse consequences ; and it was not till afterwards 
lie discovered that, anticipating annoyance, the whole Arnold family, 
including bride and bridegroom, had slipped off that night quietly 
with the guests, and gone up to lodge at Uncle Dyer's. 



